


Independence Day Is for Lovers

by Hexqueen517



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Because I miss summer parties, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, Independence Day - Freeform, Modern AU, Stark family party, The Stark siblings are disaster siblings, Touch starved Sandor (how is this not a tag already), including Jon, self-indulgent silliness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25000363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexqueen517/pseuds/Hexqueen517
Summary: You’re invited to the Starks' annual Northern Independence Day party! Get ready for sunscreen, bug bites, barbecue, guests who bring their dogs, treacherous volleyball games, drunken neighbors, fireworks in the wrong hands, and everything else that makes a summer party unforgettable. But no romance this year, at least not for Sansa. She’s found something much better than dating or hooking up – finally getting revenge on her sister. Sansa, Robb, and Jon are bringing fake dates to the party who promise to help them get back at Arya. Sansa’s never met this Sandor Clegane guy that Robb and Jon found for her, but what could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters (secondary no POV), Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 165
Kudos: 214





	1. Planning a Party Is Half the Fun

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Alone On Christmas? Mad At Dad?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8819128) by [SnowWhiteKnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowWhiteKnight/pseuds/SnowWhiteKnight). 



Arya kicked off the whole disaster by bringing Dolorous Edd to their parents’ anniversary dinner, and Sansa blamed her sister for everything that happened afterwards. Before the cake was served, Edd had pronounced to the Stark family that direwolves were on the brink of extinction, ice hockey would soon be banned due to the incidence of traumatic head injuries, and global warming would melt the permafrost, releasing enough methane to make anything North of the Wall uninhabitable. Arya smirked as she ran her fingers through Edd’s hair and told Sansa that their cousin Jon had introduced her to Edd.

“Don’t blame me!” Jon said defensively. “I specifically told Arya not to date him.”

As if that wasn’t all the encouragement Arya would need. Hmmm, thought Sansa, Arya couldn’t have brought Edd to the party to purposely antagonize her siblings – right? Would Arya do such a thing?

That question was answered a month later, at the picnic in the park for Rickon’s nameday, when Arya brought someone named Hot Pie. He never stopped eating, and he never stopped talking while he ate, and he spit food at Sansa just so he could tell her that women should learn to carry their own coolers and picnic baskets and stop asking men for help. Sansa hadn’t even asked him for help. Arya smirked as she rubbed her date’s shoulders and called him Hottie.

“She’s doing this on purpose,” Sansa told her brothers.

Bran rolled his eyes. “You’re being too hard on Arya, as usual. I think she really likes the guy.” Bran always stuck up for Arya.

“Of course Arya likes him. He can guzzle an entire can of beer in less than thirty seconds,” Rickon said, his voice tinged with awe. 

Ew. “He’s not Arya’s type,” Sansa said, very diplomatically, she thought. “We’ll never hear about him again.”

“Arya wouldn’t bring people to family functions just to annoy us,” Robb said in his super-irritating “leader of the pack” voice. He was almost always making things up on the fly when he used that voice, but Sansa didn’t call him on it. “I’ll buy you dinner if you’re right about Hot Pie disappearing.”

Hot Pie was never heard from again. 

A month later, when they were planning their family’s annual Northern Independence Day party, Arya sent a group text. “I can’t wait for you all to meet my friend at the party! Funny story, I met him at a strip club. But don’t worry, he only strips to pay for his tattoos.”

Sansa’s phone rang. It was Robb.

“We need to get back at her,” he said instead of hello.

“You owe me dinner,” she said.

“Why would I owe you dinner? Sansa, stay on topic. We need to bring the most obnoxious dates we can find to this party.”

She sighed. Her older brother was a good guy, but he had trouble admitting when he was wrong. He had been wrong about Dolorous Edd and Hot Pie, and now he was wrong about upping the ante.

“We should just let it go,” Sansa said. “Mom and Dad will kill us if we ruin another family party. You know they hate it when we bicker.”

“I’m not letting this go. We won’t wreck the party.” He paused. “But maybe we shouldn’t involve Rickon. You know him, he’ll take it too far and end up inviting every juvenile delinquent north of the Trident.”

“Don’t tell Bran, either. He always takes Arya’s side. He’ll tattle to her about our plan.”

“Our plan? Does that mean if we leave out Bran and Rickon, you’ll do this thing?”

It was a crazy idea, and Sansa knew she should refuse. But she was so tempted to get the best of her sister for once.

Oh, who was she kidding? She’d never outscheme Arya. “I don’t know anyone who could be half as annoying as Arya and her dates.”

“What do you mean? Arya’s hated every guy you ever brought home.”

“Goodbye, Robb.” She ended the call.

And she wouldn’t have thought anymore about it, but later that night, Jon texted her and Robb a link to an online personals ad. 

#### Alone and Angry at Your Family?

##### I am a 28-year-old felon with no high school degree and a dirty old van 1 year younger than me.

##### I'm a line cook who works late nights at a bar.

##### If you'd like to have me as your strictly platonic date for a family event, but have me pretend to be in a relationship with you to torment your family, I'm game.

##### I can do these things at your request:

##### Openly hit on other female guests while you pretend not to notice

##### Instigate fights about politics or religion

##### Pretend to be drunk (I don't drink but I used to so I know the drill)

##### Start an actual physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for the neighbors to see

##### I require no payment but the free meal I receive as a guest.

Her phone’s text notifications went mad. 

Robb & Jon  
  
**Today** 8:15 PM  
Robb  
Do it, Sansa  
Jon  
It’s perfect. I’ll contact him for you if you want.  
Robb  
Do it, do it, do it.  
No, absolutely not. What kind of person posts an ad like that?  
Jon  
A very irritating person, don’t you think? 😉  
Robb  
I’ll offer him money. I’ll pay  
You’re going to pay a stranger money to date your sister because he volunteered to hit on the other party guests?  
Robb  
Good point. Harry used to do that for free  
Robb, you jerk, I am not doing this.  
Jon  
Wait until you meet my date. She’s going to make Arya cringe.  
How does Robb always rope you into these things? Nobody can make Arya cringe  
Robb  
You make her cringe all the time. C’mon, Sansa, you’re our ringer.  
Jon  
Arya will never be able to top this guy. She will surrender in defeat. She’ll never bring another jackass to a family function again.  
Forget it, I’m out.  


She read the ad again and came up with more questions than answers. Why did the felonious line cook want to sabotage other people’s family gatherings? Didn’t he have a family of his own to sabotage?

Anyway, Arya could’ve been joking about her new boyfriend. Sansa decided to check by sending her a quick text.

Annoying Sister  
  
**Today** 9:11 PM  
Are you really bringing a stripper to the family party?  
  
You are so judgmental! There’s nothing wrong with being a stripper. And it’s not like he’ll be the evening’s entertainment, so stop being a snob  
  
I’m not being a snob. It just seems like you didn’t give yourself much time to get over Hot Pie  
  
I’m glad you brought that up. He asked me for your number, so I gave it to him. I knew you liked him!  
  


Sansa bit down hard on her bottom lip and forced herself not to throw her phone against the wall. Why should she destroy her own possessions? She knew exactly how to get back at her sister.

Robb & Jon  
  
**Today** 9:20 PM  
Jon, Robb, you guys still around?  
Jon  
Go on  
Robb  
Why, speak to Arya lately? 😊  
Do it. Call the felonious line cook and set it up  


Robb and Jon wouldn’t tell her anything about their dates. They wouldn’t even give her a hint because they didn’t want to spoil the shocked look on her face when she and Arya met their special guests. But they both promised they’d be able to keep a very close eye on the felonious line cook, who had accepted their invitation to the Northern Independence Day party. 

Like Sansa and Arya, Sansa’s mystery date lived in Kings Landing. Although in his ad he offered to ruin family gatherings in exchange for free food, Robb and Jon decided to pay him for his time, since the party at Winterfell was a three-hour drive north from Kings Landing. Six hours of driving round trip sounded like it would push a 27-year-old van to its overdue death.

To her surprise, her mystery date insisted on texting her to make sure Robb and Jon weren’t engaging him behind her back. That courtesy led her to believe he might be polite, but he disabused her of that idea immediately.

Unknown Number  
  
**Today** 2:11 PM  
Lady, your family is trying to screw you over. Thought you should know  
  
Hello? Are you the man Robb and Jon have been texting about the party?  
  
What the fuck, you know about this already?  
  
Yes. I thought they told you what we’re trying to do.  
  
I thought they were lying. You must hate your sister a metric fuckload  
  
I don’t hate my sister. I know this plan is a bit ridiculous, but it’s the only way to get her to stop escalating things before she invites a serial killer to dinner  
  
Not my place to judge.  
  
It’s really for her own good.  
  
Not my place to care either.  
  
What should I call you?  
  
I don’t fucking care. Whatever you want.  
  
  
Would you rather not give me your name? I’m Sansa.  
  
You didn’t ask for my name. You asked what to call me. Most people call me the Hound.  
  
  
That’s fascinating, I’m sure. But since you’ll be posing as my love interest, perhaps something more personal would be better?  
  


After a while, Sansa gave up and went back to her lesson planning. She had moved to Kings Landing to take a position as an elementary school art teacher, her first teaching job since getting her degree in education. She would need plans for each class, from kindergarten to fifth grade. It was an intimidating amount of work, and she couldn’t afford to let it wait until school started in a couple of months. Before she could pick up her highlighter, her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number  
  
**Today** 2:45 PM  
My name’s Sandor Clegane  
  
Great, Sandor, I can’t wait to meet you in person.  
  
Your brother showed you the ad, right?  
  
Yes, of course. Do you have any questions for me?  
  
Can I bring my dog? He’s a pit bull. He’s a good boy and gets along with other dogs, but his face scares the shit out of people  
  
I’m sure he’ll be fine. Definitely bring him along. Anything else?  
  
Yeah, that line about this being for your sister’s own good? I don’t believe that bullshit for a second  
  


She didn’t bother to respond. What did Sandor Clegane know about her family? She was beginning to think this date was a huge mistake. But if she complained to Robb and Jon about Sandor’s obnoxiousness, they’d remind her that was the whole point.

Sandor’s ad hinted at someone who wanted to aid a damsel in distress in her quest to break free from her horrible family. True, Sansa didn’t have a horrible family, but she was still surprised that Sandor didn’t sound helpful or outgoing whatsoever. If he just wanted to pick fights with people, why place the ad? It sounded as if his real life offered more than enough opportunities for fights. 

Oh, well, it wasn’t any of her business. All Sandor had to do was turn his lack of charm on Arya. Between his personality and whatever tricks Robb and Jon had up their sleeves, Sansa should never have to deal with a Dolorous Edd or a Hot Pie again. And that was the whole point, wasn’t it? Proving that she could see through Arya’s charade? Yes. Yes, it was. If that meant having to deal with Sandor Clegane for one party, the sacrifice would be well worth it.


	2. Make New Friends and Keep the Old

Northern Independence Day began with glorious, sun-dappled promise. It was a crisp, clear kind of morning only found in the North. Sansa had arrived home to Winterfell the night before to help set up the tables and decorations in the yard. After going to bed early, ducking her mother’s questions about her nonexistent romantic prospects, Sansa was the first one in the house to wake. She took her wolfhound Lady for a long walk. A light breeze cutting through the summer heat lifted her spirits. Change was in the air, and even Lady seemed to sense it, if her intense nasal examination of every stick and leaf in their path was any indication. 

The only fly in the ointment was her “date” for the party, but while she meandered under the emerald trees in the Godswood, letting the underbrush rustle against her bare legs, even the felonious line cook seemed more amusing than frightening. Men could be dangerously unpredictable in Sansa’s experience, but Jon and her brothers would be at her side. Although she wished she’d asked Sandor Clegane for a picture so she could recognize him. It seemed rude to ask him to text a picture now, while he was on the way to Winterfell. The chances were incredibly slim that Sandor would be too intimidating for Robb and Jon to handle. No, everything would be just fine, and the look on Arya’s face would be priceless.

After their walk, Sansa brought Lady to the outdoor kennel and dog run her Uncle Benjen had built for Lady and her litter mates. Rickon’s Shaggydog and Bran’s Summer ran to the gate to meet her. Rickon, like any self-respecting 16-year-old, would be sleeping until noon and consider it waking up early for the party. Bran was home between college semesters, and Sansa could hear him and her father laughing nearby. It made her chest feel expansive and warm. It sounded like they were setting up the volleyball net, and why not? The weather was perfect. Everything would be perfect for the party.

At least, it was until Arya showed up. She led her wolfhound Nymeria to the fenced dog run, ignoring her date, who trailed after her. Sansa expected Arya to act the same way she had with Dolorous Edd and Hot Pie, hanging all over her date and calling him ridiculous endearments. This guy was practically getting the cold shoulder, and Arya gritted her teeth as she reluctantly introduced Sansa to Gendry Waters. Gendry took Sansa’s hand with a huge, winning smile that showed off his perfect teeth. He was much better looking than anyone Arya had ever brought home before, with thick, dark hair, startlingly blue eyes, and broad shoulders. Colorful tattoos emphasized the muscles on his well-defined arms. If he really was a stripper, he’d be a popular stripper.

“You must be Sansa. It’s such an honor to meet Arya’s family,” Gendry said with a teasing sparkle in his eyes. His Kings Landing accent was unmistakable. “I’ve heard at least a dozen stories about you.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m sure we’ll have a wonderful time today,” Sansa said. “Just remember that none of the stories Arya tells about me are true.”

Gendry laughed. “What a coincidence. None of the stories Arya tells about me are true either.”

Arya scowled and grabbed Gendry’s t-shirt to drag him to the house. Sansa’s stomach sank. There was no mistaking what her sister’s behavior meant – she really, really liked Gendry, which meant Sansa and Robb and Jon had gotten everything entirely wrong.

There was no time to undo what they’d done. The caterers showed up with the picnic trays, and Sansa helped her mother find places for the cold salads out of the sun. Friends and relatives began trickling in. Sansa’s very best childhood girlfriend, Jeyne Poole, was one of the first to arrive.

Jeyne air kissed Sansa on the cheek. “Gods, girl, I’ve missed you. You remember my boyfriend Ramsay, don’t you?”

Ugh, yes, how could Sansa forget Ramsay Bolton, the boy who’d been suspended from their high school back in the day for poking people in the ass with an oversized carving fork? She nailed on a fake smile.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Ramsay,” she said politely.

“I’ll bet it is,” Ramsay said. His gaze searched the party pavilions that had been set up in the backyard with tables and sun-blocking canopies. “I hope that bitch boy Robb brought the booze out.”

“Um, well, Robb hasn’t arrived yet, it’s only noon, he’s—” 

Ramsay strode away before she could finish her sentence. 

“Isn’t he handsome?” Jeyne said. It seemed to be a rhetorical question, fortunately, because Sansa had no idea how to answer it. “Please tell me you asked someone to come. Northern Independence Day is for lovers, am I right?”

Sansa dropped the fake smile. Jeyne knew perfectly well that Sansa had sworn off dating. Her last two relationships had been disasters, and Jeyne certainly couldn’t have forgotten. And Sansa couldn’t remind her, not when she had a “date” on the way. She was going to knock Robb and Jon’s wooden heads together for getting her into this mess.

She changed the subject. “When did you start introducing Ramsay as your boyfriend?”

Jeyne blushed. “It’s definitely a story for when other people aren’t around. I wouldn’t want any children overhearing me.”

Sansa made a mental note never to bring up Ramsay again. “Listen, Jeyne, there is someone coming here who I invited—"

“Great! I can’t wait to meet him.” 

“Thank you, but the situation is a little complicated.”

“Oh, look, it’s Robb and Theon!” Jeyne stood on tiptoes and waved frantically. “Robb! Get over here!”

Robb was supposed to be bringing a date, but Sansa didn’t see anyone unfamiliar in the growing crowd by the beverage coolers. He and his hapless stoner friend Theon rushed over to claim hugs. They both smelled like sunscreen and skunk weed. While Theon clung to Jeyne for much longer than was socially acceptable, Sansa pinned Robb with her best attempt at a glare.

“You were supposed to bring a date,” she said under her breath.

“I did.” He pointed to Theon, who was now offering Jeyne something from his pockets, keeping it hidden from Sansa and Robb.

“Theon’s your date? How can Theon be your date?”

“He’s the most annoying person you’ve ever met, isn’t he? Like a mosquito in human form.”

“Yes, but he would’ve come here anyway, with or without you. And you’re straight, so how does that work?”

Robb shrugged. “Nobody said our dates had to be that kind of date. You just assumed we’d pretend to be in a relationship with the people we brought.”

“I didn’t assume anything!” Honestly, this from Robb of all people, who had once managed to get himself into a romantic entanglement while getting his eyes dilated at the optometrist’s office. “Arya always pretended to be in a relationship. How else could we prove a point to her?”

Robb crinkled his nose. “Is that what we’re doing? Huh. How is Arya’s stripper guy, by the way?”

Sansa was so frustrated that she actually stomped her foot. “He’s wonderful. She’s completely beside herself,” she hissed, struggling to keep her volume down so Jeyne wouldn’t hear. “It’s a disaster, Robb, and you set me up with a felon, and you don’t even remember why.”

Theon darted into her personal space. “Hey, Sansie, you seem really stressed. I have something here—"

“I’m not interested, thank you,” she said quickly. “Have you seen Jon?”

Robb and Theon both grinned. “He’s taking Ghost to play with the dogs,” Robb said. “You should see the girl he brought.”

“Oooh, really?” Jeyne giggled, and Sansa felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. At least Jon remembered the mission.

“She’s gorgeous,” Theon said in a breathless voice. “I’ve never seen such a beautiful woman.”

Seven hells, why hadn’t Sansa predicted how this would play out? If only she could call off Sandor Clegane, but the poor guy had probably been driving for hours. She should at least provide him with a meal. Only her family could make her feel sorry for a guy who advertised himself as willing to fight a woman’s relatives on their own front lawn. Come to think of it, maybe she could get him to fight Jon.

There was Jon was striding across the lawn holding hands with a petite blonde. Perhaps Sansa had been too quick to judge. Jon had never been as flaky as Robb, and he appeared to remember the mission after all. His date wore a strappy beige sundress crossed with what looked to be gold bandoliers, and she had gold ribbons wound up each arm. She had her hair tied back with a gauzy scarf. 

Jon didn’t stop to greet his mother or Sansa’s parents but went directly up to her and Robb. “Let me introduce my date, Daenerys Targaryen. Daenerys, these are my cousins Sansa and Robb Stark, my friend Jeyne Poole, and, hmm, well …”

Theon draped a gangly arm around Robb’s shoulders. “I’m Robb’s date.”

“Of course you are,” Jon said happily. 

“Oh, gods, Robb, are you and Theon are finally dating?” Jeyne clapped her hands. “I thought it would take years before you two acted on your mutual attraction.”

Robb went to say something, but it turned into a coughing fit. Theon pounded his back. Sansa tried to not to take satisfaction from Robb’s suffering. Instead, she held out her hand to Jon’s date. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Daenerys.”

“The pleasure’s all mine.” Was it unkind to be disappointed that Daenerys shook hands firmly and properly? “I’ve never been to a Northern Independence Day party before.”

“You’re going to love it,” Jeyne said. “The Starks throw the best parties.”

“When do we get to meet Sansa’s date?” Theon tried to wink and missed. “I’ve heard a lot about him.”

“She hasn’t even told me his name,” Jeyne complained.

“Saaandor,” Robb and Jon sang in unison. Theon chuckled. Seven hells. Maybe she could wait at the end of the drive to Winterfell and cut Sandor off before he could arrive.

Before she could move, though, Daenerys grabbed her upper arms and dug her fingernails into Sansa’s exposed flesh. She was wearing a sleeveless sundress with a pretty yellow and blue feather pattern, and now she wished she’d worn something less conspicuous, maybe in olive camouflage so she could retreat to the Godswood and crawl into a hole. Daenerys stared at her intensely, and Sansa would swear the woman’s eyes were glowing violet.

“You’re worried because your man is late,” Daenerys said. “I can always tell. I’m clairvoyant.”

Sansa suspected that party guests on the other side of the pavilions chatting with her parents could glance over and tell she was worried about something, but she tried to look politely interested.

“Ooh, you’re psychic?” Jeyne said. “Can you predict my future?”

Daenerys refused to let go of Sansa. “Absolutely not,” Daenerys said. “Never play with forces you don’t understand.”

“Isn’t she great?” Jon said. He and Robb bumped fists.

“What? What are you talking about?” It was Arya. She and Gendry had snuck up on them while Daenerys was peering into Sansa’s soul.

Jon managed to disentangle his date from Sansa to introduce her to Arya. Gendry greeted Daenerys with the right mixture of friendliness and wariness, edging closer to Arya as he spoke. Arya pretended not to notice Gendry, but whenever he wasn’t staring wistfully at her, such as when Jon and Robb shook his hand with too much strength and gave him the expected glares, Arya couldn’t take her eyes off him. 

Bran came over with his friends Meera and Jojen Reed in tow, and then everyone was introducing everyone else and trying to explain the cultural significance of Northern Independence Day to Gendry and Daenerys. 

“So then after the Free Folk came south of the Wall,” Jeyne said, “our ancestors – oh gods, who the hell is _that_?”

Everyone but Sansa turned to look at the new arrival to the party. Sansa knew down to the marrow of her bones who it was, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“He’s got balls, whoever he is, strutting in with a pit bull like that,” Arya said.

“He’d better not be someone Rickon invited,” Bran said. “Mom will have puppies.”

“I think that’s Sandor,” Robb said with clearly unrestrained joy. “Isn’t that right, Sansa?”

She bit down on her lip until her nerve endings screamed at her to stop. It didn’t change anything. She was still in the middle of the party, all of her Northern friends and relations surrounding her, and Robb still hadn’t been incinerated to ash with the strength of her thoughts. There was nothing for it. She peeled open her eyes and let out an involuntary squeak.

Sandor Clegane was by far the tallest man she’d ever seen, topping her father by a good eight inches. He wasn’t just tall, he was enormous, with upper arms as big as the logs standing ready for tonight’s bonfire. His long hair hung straight down his broad back. A pit bull with crooked teeth strained on the leash in his hand as he cut a path through the partygoers to reach the makeshift bar the caterers had set up. 

As if he felt her gaze, he turned his head and met her eyes, and she gasped. Half of his face was covered in scar tissue. He had brushed his hair over from the undamaged side of his head to cover where some terrible accident had obliterated his ear. Holy mother, why hadn’t he warned her? No wonder he thought he could play the role of the world’s scariest boyfriend. 

He narrowed his eyes and scowled at her before he ordered his drink. Her face flooded with hot embarrassment. Could she have been more incredibly rude, gasping and staring like that?

“Pfft, please,” Arya said loudly, which was how she said most things. “That’s not Sansa’s date. Our precious Sansa would never speak to a guy who looks like him.”

“Arya!” Why did her sister think she was so shallow? Arya didn’t know her at all. She deserved to be taught a lesson.

“Whoever he is, someone ought to make sure he introduces his dog to Summer and the rest of the pack properly,” Bran said, and he started to head in Sandor’s direction. 

Sansa darted in front of him. “I’ll take care of it.”

Before Arya could blurt out another biting insult, Sansa ran over to Sandor Clegane. Up close, somehow the man seemed even bigger, and she could see that his scars were very old burns that gave that side of his face a melted, lopsided appearance. He smelled fantastic, though, like mown grass and freshly washed beach towels. The contrast was unsettling. She craned her neck to look up at him, but he studied the melting ice cubes in his drink and pretended not to notice, for which she couldn’t blame him. She had been unspeakably impolite. His dog was less standoffish and licked her toes through her sandals. 

She ducked down. “Oh, hello, little guy. What a softie you are.”

Sandor snorted, a sound that indicated disbelief without having to do the work of articulating it. Sansa gave him a few seconds, but nope, nothing else was coming. Fine. It was her responsibility to introduce herself anyway, being that it was her family party and he was … not really a guest. Definitely here on her account, though.

Except, wait. If she introduced herself, if she even so much as asked if she could pet his dog, it would sound like she and Sandor had never met before. And Sansa was sure that, even on the off chance everyone in the vicinity wasn’t listening intently, Arya would be.

She straightened up and rested her hand on his forearm. “Hello, sweetheart, I’m glad you could make it.”

That got his attention. His one good eyebrow climbed to his hairline, and his jaw dropped. She batted her eyelashes and waited for him to pick up his cue. Endearments, warm greetings, and all that. Maybe a hug. Would he try hug her? He looked like he could accidentally crush her spine with a one-handed squeeze.

Instead, he stared at her hand on his arm as if it were a dead spider. Apparently, she’d be doing all the work here.

She batted her eyelashes at his dog and got a better reaction. He panted and drooled on her leg. “Let’s get this angel to the dog run,” she said. “I’m sure Lady misses him.” 

Name, she needed the dog’s name, why hadn’t she prepped for this and written a script? Next time she entered a fake relationship, she’d know better, only there wasn’t going to be a next time because she was never again going to let Robb and Jon suck her into one of their ridiculous schemes. She twirled the skirt of her sundress and flashed her fake boyfriend a flirtatious smile. Huh, still no apparent reaction from Sandor Clegane. Maybe this was part of his act. That had to be it. He was pretending to be a lousy boyfriend. She’d better lead him to the dog run and figure out what their guidelines were going to be.

Sansa led him past the backyard pavilions and over the rise to the kennel. He didn’t say a word. A terrible thought hit her. What if this wasn’t her date? She’d die of embarrassment. No, it had to be him, he had a pit bull. As soon as they were out of earshot from the party, she spoke to him quietly. “You are Sandor Clegane, right?” 

“Yeah, why? Not what you were expecting?”

His voice was surprisingly deep and raspy. And angry. She wasn’t sure why, although a gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach indicated that it might be her fault. 

“Will your dog like being in the kennel with all the other dogs?” she asked. “You said he was a good boy. He looks like a good boy.”

Sandor scowled. “He doesn’t look like a good boy. He looks like a fucking menace. But yeah, he’s fine with other dogs.”

“I’m sure he’s a gentleman. Can I pet him?”

“You want to pet him?” He squinted at her. “I know you’re not blind.”

She broke eye contact, feeling a bit ashamed and unsure if she should apologize. He must have noticed her shock upon seeing him for the first time, but honestly, what had he expected? The way his plain black t-shirt clung to his defined chest, he was obviously making an effort to be noticeable, as part of their deal. She didn’t like this feeling of not knowing what to say. Usually, the proper phrase to make someone feel welcome sprang out of her mouth without her needing to think about it. She focused on the dogs. Dogs were a safe topic.

“Lady, come,” she commanded, and Lady stopped fighting Nymeria for a ball and bounded over. She sat patiently by the gate as Sansa opened it just enough to let her sniff Sandor’s dog. 

“That’s a big dog,” Sandor said, sounding much less angry. He shifted his drink to his left hand and held out his right hand, palm down. “This alright?”

“Yes, she’s very friendly. You still haven’t told me if—"

“Yeah, go ahead. He’s a sucker for attention from… “ Sandor examined Lady and scratched behind her ears. “You know. He’s an attention hound.”

“Is he?” He was. The pittie slobbered in ecstasy as Sansa rubbed the top of his fuzzy head. 

Sandor motioned to Lady’s siblings. “All of these yours?”

“No, the white one is Jon’s. I think you met Jon on the phone? I’ll introduce you. And the other dogs belong to my brothers and sister.”

“Right, the sister you want to torture.”

“I don’t want to torture her.” Sansa cleared her throat. “Actually, a slight bit of torture wouldn’t be uncalled for, but let’s not embarrass her too badly in front of her new boyfriend.”

“How am I going to know who that is?”

“His name’s Gendry. He’s the one with the tattoos and the biceps.” She considered Sandor Clegane’s considerable biceps. A black tattoo marked the right one, most of it hidden by his shirt sleeve, but from what she could see of it, it appeared dog shaped. “I mean, not as big as yours, but still fairly …” She had no idea how to finish that sentence. “You know.”

“Want me to ask him if he’s the serial killer you were expecting?”

She realized she was staring at his tattoo, trying to make out the whole of it, and here he was making fun of her. “Better not,” she said, ducking her head to hide any possible blushing. 

Sandor made a clicking noise with his tongue, and his dog trotted into the fenced enclosure with the Stark wolfhounds. They all approached in their characteristic ways: Shaggy at an all-out run, Gray Wolf at his side to keep him in line, Summer loping forward with easy confidence, Ghost sneaking up silently, and Nymeria ignoring the new dog to snap at Lady. Sandor’s dog flopped onto the ground and let them sniff him. He was fearless. 

“Look, he gets along with the pack so well,” Sansa said, happy to change the subject. 

“Stranger,” Sandor growled.

“It’s not that strange, really. I suppose a pack of wolfhounds is unconventional, but they’ve been socialized with other dogs, as you can see.”

He gave her a funny look. “No. That’s my dog’s name. Stranger.”

Oh. She leaned over the top rail of the wooden rail fence, the rough wood scratching her exposed arms, and stared at the dogs so she didn’t stare at anything else. What kind of person gave their dog such a blasphemous name? Not that it mattered here in the North, but it probably got Sandor some double takes in Kings Landing. That among other things.

“Let me guess,” he said. “You’re the pretty one, and your sister’s the smart one.”

It wasn’t the first time Sansa had heard that, and she despised the assumptions it contained. “That’s very insulting. Look, I know what you put in your ad, but when it’s just you and me, I’d appreciate it if you could be less … ” 

She had to remember not to start sentences she couldn’t finish. It wasn’t doing much to prove her intelligence.

Sandor rubbed his beard. “So, yeah, about the ad. I didn’t write that shit.”

“I’ve been wondering. It doesn’t sound like you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” He sounded shocked for some reason.

She sighed. “The person in that ad sounded easygoing. You’re rather difficult.”

“If you’re trying to tell me I’m a pain in the ass, just say it outright.”

Sansa thought she had said it outright. “Who wrote the ad?”

She closed the gate while Sandor took a moment to think. “This asshole Bronn I work with,” he finally said. “He said I’m so good at being a grouchy, intimidating bastard, I should get paid for it. He placed the ad as a joke, I guess. We never expected someone to reply.”

“Okay.” If she stood on the bottom rail of the fence, she could talk to him without straining her neck so much. She hopped up and balanced. “If it was just a joke with a friend, what made you decide to come here?”

He scowled a little at the word “friend,” but recovered quickly. “Look at this place.” He waved at the gray stone walls of the main house. “It’s some fucking ancient ancestral estate, right? I figured I’d see how the other half lives.” He held up his drink. “This is damn expensive scotch. Makes me wish I hadn’t quit drinking.”

“Then why did you order it? I can get you something nonalcoholic.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s for the look of the thing.”

“The thing?”

“The thing where I pretend to be in a relationship with you.” 

He looked her up and down, and she shivered. She wanted to tell herself that he was only making sure she kept her balance on the fence rail, but that look was unmistakably appraising. He had gray eyes, she realized. So unusual. 

The ad mentioned that he didn’t drink. “So you didn’t place the ad, but parts of it are true. Are you really a felon?”

“Why the fuck would I lie about that?”

“I mean, why would you lie about the ad being from you in the first place?”

His gaze returned to the dogs. “You can back out of this if you want. Just say the word and Stranger and I will drive home.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You haven’t eaten lunch yet.” 

“I don’t mind driving. It’s not a problem.”

It was almost shy, the way he seemed steeled for rejection. His whole body was tense, the muscles in his arms twitching slightly. Those muscles were really quite something, even more impressive than Gendry’s.

She made a snap decision. “Since we’re in a relationship, we should work out how we met.”

He shook his head. “Your sister must be a total bitch.”

“I’m going to let you be the judge of that when you meet her. I’m warning you now, she’s going to ask questions, so be prepared. The best thing to do when I introduce you is to immediately throw her off balance somehow. Like she had Gendry tell me he’d heard a lot of stories about me.” 

Arya was going to try to sniff out this ruse like a bloodhound. Their stories needed to be airtight. Why hadn’t she written a script? She plucked the plastic cup of scotch, already sweaty with condensation, out of Sandor’s hand and took a swig.

“Ugh, that’s awful. That’s what scotch tastes like?”

“We didn’t meet in a decent restaurant,” Sandor said, “because your palate is fucking uncultured.”

“Oh, I’m fu … I’m uncultured, am I?” She handed him the drink back. “I didn’t realize you worked in a four star establishment.”

“I don’t. Do you even work, rich girl?”

“I’m a teacher in Kings Landing,” she said, hoping it made him feel guilty about the “I guess you’re the pretty one” comment. And the “fucking uncultured” comment, too, while he was feeling remorse. She wasn’t even getting started on the “rich girl” epithet. He’d obviously come here to crash an upper class party and make them all feel like dopes in some sort of “snobs versus slobs” scheme. Possibly, he had some kind of moral superiority complex.

If he felt bad, he didn’t mention it. “I don’t see where the two of us would ever run into each other.”

“The dog park, of course.” She was a genius. He should feel guilty. “Lady and Stranger met at the dog park and introduced us.”

Summer started barking, and sure enough, she spotted Bran coming up the rise from the backyard. Shoot, they had about thirty seconds to plot out their entire relationship. She stole a fortifying sip of Sandor’s scotch. The taste was starting to grow on her.

“You took me out for an oh-so-cultured dinner for our first date,” she announced.

“Yeah, I don’t think so. That doesn’t sound like us.”

It didn’t? “You cook, right? How about you cooked me dinner?”

“You got a decent kitchen at your place?”

“That doesn’t work. You can’t describe my apartment to Arya. You had to cook me dinner at your place.”

He huffed out a breath. “A little thing like you wouldn’t be crazy enough to show up for a first date at my place.”

Why were they arguing about an imaginary date that had never happened? Robb had been way off base about Theon. Sandor Clegane was the most annoying person she’d ever met.

It was too late to try to make him see reason. Bran smiled and waved as he approached, the perfect picture of “I’m not checking up on my sister” innocence. He climbed on the rail next to Sansa and rested a hand on her sun-prickled shoulder. 

“What are you doing here?” she grumbled. “Did you and Jojen already run out of Southerners to lecture about cultural appropriation?”

“Wow, retract the talons, sis,” Bran said. Sandor coughed, or it might have been a laugh. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your Southerner?”

Sansa jumped down from the fence. “Sandor Clegane, this is my brother, Brandon Stark.”

She could just tell Sandor was going to ask how many brothers she had. That was why she’d gotten her feet on the ground, so she could elbow him in the stomach before he could ask when he should already know the answer.

“Ow, what the fuck?” he said. “Did you just—”

“I know you’re hungry,” she said loudly. “Why don’t you skip on ahead and help yourself to lunch? I’ll catch up in a moment.”

He stared down at her, those unusual gray eyes glittering like silver. He really had lovely eyes. It was a shame they came as a package with his personality.

“Alright,” he finally said after keeping her in suspense for a few breaths. “Good to meet you, Brandon. I’ll just … skip along then, shall I?”

Bran hid a laugh at his sarcastic tone. Sansa beamed as if she’d won the lottery. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

He actually took a step backward when she called him sweetheart, which she determined to do for the rest of the day. It was fitting because he was a bitter man, quite the opposite of sweet, bitter like espresso and dark chocolate. He grunted and headed toward the party in the backyard.

“What are you up to, Sansa?” Bran said. “This doesn’t have anything to do with the weird girl Jon brought here, does it?”

“I’ve never met her before, honest,” Sansa said. She widened her eyes and tried to appear pure of heart, despite knowing that Bran was the wrong audience for the act. 

“If you’re trying to rile up Arya—"

“I never try to rile up Arya. She does that all by herself.” Bran always took Arya’s side, always.

Bran locked gazes with her. He’d finished growing, and he was taller than her for the first time in their lives, if only by an inch. It made her feel small, and she swallowed a lump in her throat.

“I will get Jojen to ask you these questions if I have to,” Bran said threateningly.

Chills ran down Sansa’s arms. “No, no, don’t be silly. There’s no reason to involve Jojen.”

Jojen wasn’t clairvoyant like Jon’s date claimed to be, but he was scarily observant and perceptive. Bran wasn’t a slouch himself. Not that Sandor Clegane had asked, but if anyone was the smart one, it was Bran. With Bran and Jojen both questioning her, she’d break like an egg on Sunday morning. 

“You’ll like Sandor, you really will,” she said, fighting an urge to cross her fingers behind her back.

Bran nodded slowly, his expression still clouded with suspicion. “I guess it’s insane to think you and Jon would ruin Northern Independence Day trying to get back at Arya.”

“It’s very paranoid. Jon and I are having a great time.” 

She flounced away from the dog run, doing her best to force a spring in her step just to demonstrate what a great time she was having. Such a great, great time. No need to involve Jojen in the great, great, great time she was having.

She reached the backyard just in time to see her mother and Rickon greeting the most recent arrivals: her Aunt Lysa, who was wearing scandalously short shorts, her teenaged cousin Robin, and Lysa’s housemate-with-benefits, Petyr. Rickon was already yanking on Robin’s thin arm, practically pulling it out of his shoulder socket. Robin’s expensive-looking phone fell to the ground.

“Sansa, Bran, help me!” Robin cried.

At the mention of her name, Petyr whipped his head around and licked his lips. Already, Sansa could feel a pounding headache coming on. 

Bran gave her a reassuring pat on the back. “Ready to have a great time introducing Sandor to rest of the family?” he murmured.

“Whoopie,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been pointed out to me (thank you, thank you!) that the very talented SnowWhiteKnight has already used this prompt for a SanSan fic. I didn't realize this when I wrote mine, which is a shame because I've read a lot of her work and love it. I highly recommend reading her fics!
> 
> Happy Fourth of July to my fellow Americans. I guess you can all have a happy July 4th wherever you live. :) I'll be in my backyard all weekend and updating probably Monday.


	3. It's All Fun and Games Until Volleyball Leads to Tears

Sansa spotted her father’s embarrassingly Dad-like tropical print shirt by the condiment table, where he’d already taken it upon himself to meet Sandor and had him pinned in a one-on-one conversation. She’d read Sandor’s ad – or Sandor’s friend’s ad, as it turned out – enough times to have it memorized, and “instigate fights about politics and religion” was running over and over in her head like the chorus of a hit song.

She left wrangling Rickon up to Bran. Ever since they were preschoolers, Rickon had been deadly determined to make cousin Robin into his best friend, hoping to replicate Robb and Jon’s relationship. Unlike Robb and Jon, though, Rickon and Robin had absolutely nothing in common. Robin spent his life shut up in his bedroom exaggerating minor ailments and trolling people on internet forums with increasingly tortured metaphors. Rickon couldn’t sit still for more than a minute and had to be distracted with shiny objects to get flu shots and haircuts. To date, most of their interactions involved Rickon wrestling Robin to the ground to prove his undying fraternal devotion and Robin somehow not appreciating the gesture, and apparently, they hadn’t grown past it yet. She’d deal with Rickon’s hurt feelings later, when he was far away from Petyr and his roving hands. Right now, she had to lure Sandor away from her father.

She should’ve known Sandor would shield himself from questions under the cover of rudeness. He was sitting at a vinyl-clothed table methodically wolfing down a tower of food. He’d stacked sausage patties and hot dogs atop a layered bed of macaroni salad, potato salad, home fries, and baked beans, and he’d covered the whole stack in hot sauce. Dad would ask him a question about his job, and Sandor would motion to his full mouth, chew, swallow, and grunt out a one-syllable answer. It was a masterclass in antisocial behavior, so it was just as well that Rickon was otherwise engaged.

“Princess, I’ve been getting to know your new boyfriend,” Dad told her, with kind of glare he usually reserved for Stark family incidents that included minor traffic accidents.

“Mmghhh,” Sandor said unhelpfully. He held out the scotch to Sansa, which was more helpful. 

“I thought Sansa was too much of a worrier to get involved with a cage fighter,” Dad said, and Sansa managed not to spill the drink on her new sundress. A second sip seemed called for under the circumstances, actually.

“Eh, she’s not a worrier. Wouldn’t have invited me today if she was a worrier.” Sandor miraculously didn’t spit food during this extended speech.

“There you go, Dad,” she said with what she hoped was a winning smile. “By the way, Mom’s been cornered by Aunt Lysa.”

“Why do you think I’m over here?” Dad said. “It was my opportunity to get to know Sandor. So, Clegane, what’s your take on Northern independence?”

“Oh, no, Dad, just no.” She considered shoving her father out of the way, although that would mean relinquishing the scotch, which was lovely when one got accustomed to the taste. “Mom needs you to rescue her.”

Sandor grinned, and it was the first time she’d seen him with something approximating a cheerful expression. The way it twisted his scars, she was impressed that her father didn’t flinch. “You really want to know my opinion on Northern independence?” Sandor said.

“Sandor’s joking,” she said quickly. “He has a wonderful sense of humor, don’t you, sweetheart?”

She sat next to him and put her hand on his knee. It was amazing how fast that shut him down. The predatory grin disappeared, and he stared at his lap. Apparently, there were ways to control Sandor Clegane’s behavior, which was very good to know. Very useful. She danced her fingertips over the bare skin of his muscled thigh, right below the hem of his shorts, to gauge his reaction. He remained stoic, although thankfully, he’d stopped talking. 

Robb approached them. “Hey, Neddie, Mom’s in dire straits over there. Lysa’s threatening to book you into a couples’ retreat.”

“Watch it with the Neddie, son.” But Dad was too alarmed by the prospect of a couples’ vacation with Lysa and Petyr to put any heat into it and rushed off to make sure his wife was properly horrified.

Robb looked down at her hand on Sandor’s leg and raised his eyebrows. She snatched her hand back, immediately regretting how fast she’d moved. It would serve Robb right if she made him nervous by flirting with Sandor.

“If you two aren’t too cozy to be social,” he said, “we’re starting a volleyball game and Arya claimed you both for her team.”

“Ugh, you made Arya a captain?” The fake relationship thing with Sandor was painfully awkward, but the silver lining was she didn’t have to pretend to him that she and Arya got along.

Robb held out his hand, and Sandor shook it. “Nice to meet you in person,” Robb said in his “leader of the pack” voice. “I hope my sister’s been making you feel welcome.”

“But not too welcome, right?” Sandor stood, looming over Robb.

Sansa giggled. Did Robb think he was going to intimidate Sandor? She’d love to see him try. She took another sip of scotch, which was making her feel giggly all over. Wonderful stuff, really. 

“Just check in with me and Jon before you leave tonight, and we’ll work out your payment,” Robb said. “Oh, did you bring a bathing suit for the hot springs?”

Sandor grunted, and that was his affirmative grunt. Suddenly, the liquor felt like it was boiling in her esophagus, and she abandoned the beverage on the table. The sunshine was much too hot to be wearing her fancy sundress. In fact, she should’ve put her hair up. She pulled her long hair off her neck to get some air. 

“Come on,” Robb said. “Arya’s dying to get to know you better.”

“Right,” Sandor said. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Go on ahead. We’ll catch up when Sandor finishes lunch,” she said.

Sandor picked up his plate. Robb gave her a wide-eyed look, and his gaze cut from Sandor back to her, and he held his hands out, palms up. She interpreted his nonverbal communication to mean, “This guy looks scary, are you sure you’re okay?” Although it also could’ve meant, “I’ve never seen anyone swallow a quarter pound of food in one bite before now.” She did some sort of fairy flutter with her fingers, which didn’t communicate anything except that she should lay off the alcohol. Then she gave Robb a shooing motion. He scowled at her, but he took the hint and left for the volleyball field.

She turned to Sandor. “So, as soon as you finish …”

Oh, he was already done. She picked up his empty plate.

“I know how to bus my table,” Sandor said. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to be civilized or if he was complaining about her behavior. 

“Yes, well, I want an ice-cream sandwich, so I’m going that way. Grab the scotch before my brother Rickon does, please.”

He followed her through the pavilion silently like a bodyguard. Sandor did look scary, there was no way around that, but she wasn’t actually scared of him with so much of her family around. Arya was always on her case about being too naïve, but Sandor wasn’t going to, for example, pretend to be a perfect gentleman who hadn’t noticed her breasts whatsoever and offer to drive her home after the chain fell off her bicycle and then cop a feel in the front seat of his Rogue when she was watching the scenery like some party guests named Ramsay she could mention. Sandor Clegane was never going to get away with playing innocent, and ironically that made him more trustworthy.

She unwrapped her ice-cream sandwich before they made their way to the volleyball field. “Are you really a cage fighter?” she asked.

For a second, she didn’t think he’d answer. “It’s mixed martial arts,” he said. “I used to compete when I was younger.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“Because I was a fuckup. I didn’t put in the work. Busy doing stupid shit instead. I got sober a couple of years ago, though, so I started practicing again last year. Just to see how out of shape I was.”

She made an encouraging noise around her deliciously cold ice cream as they walked. If this was out of shape Sandor, younger Sandor must’ve been built like a warrior god.

He shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m not doing so bad for a guy about to turn thirty. I might start competing again. It’s fucking time consuming, but it’s not like I have anything better going on. Why am I telling you all this?” He stopped walking. “Why do I keep talking to you?” 

She hadn’t thought he’d been talking to her too much. She hardly knew anything about him yet, surely not enough to formulate a romantic relationship that would convince Arya. She kept heading toward the back field, and he followed along, but just as they approached the group of people at the picnic table next to the volleyball net, he growled at her.

“It’s because you keep talking to me,” he said, apparently unhappy about it.

“I’m … sorry?” She sucked the chocolate from the ice-cream sandwich off her fingers. He watched her intently. Very intently, she realized. Her face burned hot in contrast to the post-ice cream cold of her teeth. She took her fingers out of her mouth. Why hadn’t she brought a napkin?

“What the hell are you apologizing about?” And that could only be Arya.

“Talking too much, I guess,” she said. 

She felt unsettled and decided to take the scotch back. Her fingers brushed Sandor’s on the cup, igniting her nerves where they touched. He kept staring at her with smoldering eyes. She thought that was only a turn of phrase from romance novels, but no, it was a real life thing, smoldering eyes. 

Arya poked Sandor’s stomach, meeting an immovable wall of muscle. “You’re making my sister apologize for talking too much, are you?”

“I never said that,” he said. 

Sansa exhaled. The spell was broken, and she couldn’t help but feel relieved. That had been weird. “Arya, this is Sandor Clegane. Sandor, my sister Arya Stark.”

Arya crossed her arms over her chest. “Uh-huh. So, Sandor Clegane, where did you and Sansa meet?”

“Dog park,” Sansa and Sandor said at the same time.

“And what was Sansa wearing?”

Shoot, they hadn’t rehearsed that. Who would’ve guessed Arya would ask about clothes? “Men don’t notice things like that,” Sansa said.

“I noticed. She was wearing yellow. Like today,” Sandor said. “It’s a good color on her. Brings out the red in her hair.”

Her heart fluttered traitorously, wantonly, at his attention. “That’s very sweet of you.”

He turned away from her to glare at the empty volleyball field as if it posed a threat. It was hard to tell with the burn scars, but she thought he might be blushing. He was not a man for taking compliments, apparently, even if he started it. She made a mental note of that while she introduced him to the people he hadn’t met yet: Daenerys, Jojen, Meera, Theon, and Gendry. Sandor grunted at them, even Gendry, who leaped up from the table to shake his hand enthusiastically. 

Jon and Robb huddled together a few feet away from the picnic table as if they’d been telling each other secrets. Sansa scowled at them when she thought Arya was looking at Gendry. They grinned back, Robb giving her a little wave. 

“Brothers are the worst,” she said to Sandor under her breath.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he muttered.

“As soon as Bran and Rickon get over here, we can start the game,” Robb said. “My team versus Arya’s team.”

“So this is Sansa’s boyfriend,” Daenerys said. “I see the Stark girls like the muscle boys.”

“Mmm, who doesn’t?” Theon said.

Gendry preened a bit, throwing his shoulders back, while Arya shook her head as if this was all beneath her. Sansa couldn’t stop herself from glancing at Sandor, stealthily, from behind her hair so he wouldn’t notice. He was back to staring at the volleyball net, but she was almost sure she saw him flex his arms. Huh. Since compliments unnerved him so much, perhaps she should deploy one to discover his reaction, tell him something like she couldn’t help but admire the way his thin shirt clung to his pectorals … oh, no, absolutely not, that was … that would be entirely inappropriate, who even spoke like that?

Meera rescued her from her ridiculous thoughts. “Sansa, did you know Daenerys reads palms? She just read mine and predicted that I’d be going on a road trip north soon.”

“That is so interesting!” Alright, it wasn’t that interesting, but the distraction was welcome.

Jojen was sitting at the picnic table next to Theon, across from Daenerys and his sister. “That prediction isn’t much of a stretch though,” he said with a mischievous look on his face. “Too bad Daenerys won’t read my palm.”

“I only peel back the veil obscuring the future for women,” Daenerys said. “The violence inherent in men’s minds clouds predictions.”

“True that,” Theon said sincerely before he started giggling. 

Sansa was almost positive she heard Sandor make a dismissive noise, but he didn’t say a word. She felt determined to prove that Daenerys was worse than him. She needed to feel like Jon and Robb were her partners in crime rather than the more likely supposition that they’d set her up and were having some fun at her expense. She sat down on the picnic table’s bench next to Daenerys. “Would you read my palm?”

Daenerys gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’d love to. Here, let me take your right hand.”

Sansa held out her hand and focused her attention on where Daenerys stroked her open palm. “Hmm. This is your love line,” her soothsayer said, tracing a thick line that started at the base of Sansa’s index finger. “You’ve had bad luck in relationships in the past, but the good news is that your luck has turned around.”

“That would be nice,” Sansa admitted. This was cute, actually, Daenerys giving people happy futures to brighten their day. Maybe Sansa had misjudged her.

“This is your life line.” Daenerys pointed out the longest line on Sansa’s palm. Suddenly, she gasped dramatically and grabbed Sansa’s hand in a bone-crushing vice grip. 

“Ow, that kind of—”

“Listen to me,” Daenerys said in an extremely authoritative voice. “Something is going to happen to you very soon. You will never again be as beautiful as you are right now. This is the apex of your beauty.”

Sansa yanked her hand out of Daenerys’ tight hold and flew off the bench.

A passing cloud hid the sun, bathing Daenerys’ face in shadow. “I mean it,” she threatened. “Enjoy your good looks while you can. You’ll never be this pretty again.”

“Ha, you know how to go for the throat,” Arya said, taking Sansa’s abandoned seat. “Now read my future.”

Sansa retreated to the tree Sandor was leaning against. “That … that woman is insane.”

“Aw, come on, you don’t believe that bullshit,” Sandor said. “She can’t see into the future. She’s just yanking your chain.”

“I think she believes it. I think she tried to curse me.” Sansa peered at Sandor over the rim of the cup of scotch, which she barely remembered taking out of his hand. “She is so much worse than you.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” He didn’t sound angry, though, just confused.

“You advertised yourself as obnoxious. Torment your family, that’s exactly what your ad said. I’m the only one being tormented here.”

He rolled his eyes. “Tormented is a damn stretch. Your breathless beauty isn’t going anywhere.”

“My …” She didn’t know him well enough to judge if there was a grain of truth in his sarcasm. “Honestly, though, you haven’t done any of the things your friend Bronn said you would. I’m beginning to think you’re not that obnoxious. I’m beginning to think you’re nice.”

“Whoa, retract your talons, little bird,” he said, taking the scotch back.

She bit her lip. That was close to what Bran had said earlier but not at all the same. Not at all. “What did you just call me?”

He studied something behind her left ear. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. You know. It’s a name. For the thing.”

“Oh, right. The thing.” She examined the volleyball net closely. No holes or anything. Dad and Bran had done a good job. Look at how straight it was. Nicely parallel to the ground.

She’d never been so glad to see Bran and Rickon arrive. Rickon jogged up to her. “Hey, I hear this is Sandor. Hi, Sandor, I hope you’re on my team. Robin’s going to join us for the next game.”

Bran slapped Rickon on the back. “Sure he is, buddy.”

Sandor held out his hand to Rickon to shake. Either he was secretly polite – although that was an oxymoron, she supposed – or he was avoiding having to talk to her in favor of Rickon.

Behind her, Arya started yelling. “You have a lot of nerve, you know that? How dare you!”

“See?” Sansa said triumphantly to Sandor. “She cursed Arya too. You are much nicer than she is.”

Rickon shrugged. “Yeah, I like Sandor, too. Way to go, dawg.”

“I am not fucking nice,” Sandor said with his jaw clenched. 

But Arya was making too much of a scene to allow any other conversation. She stood over Daenerys windmilling her arms. “Faceless is an insult. It’s a disgusting, horrible insult, and you should feel like shit for saying it.”

Daenerys rose to her feet, completely unintimidated. “Your future is the result of your own choices. You should be angry at yourself.”

Rickon shivered. “This should be good, bro.”

“Come on, we’d better pull Gendry out of the line of fire before he does something stupid,” Bran said.

Arya shook a finger under Daenerys’ nose. “You said I’d have no _face_. You can keep your fake futures to yourself from now on, bitch.”

Daenerys sniffed. “I don’t invent the future. I’m only the messenger.”

“She’s something else, isn’t she?” While Sansa had been watching the conflagration, Jon had replaced Bran and Rickon, who were now pulling on Gendry’s arms to try to move him while Gendry did his best to stand next to Arya without being punched by her spasms of temper. 

“Don’t you think Arya is being too hard on her?” Jon said.

For once, Sansa was in complete agreement with Arya and shook her head. 

“I think I love her,” Jon said, his face going all soft. “I want her to bear my children. What do you think I should do?”

Sansa rubbed her forehead. “Jon, you know nothing about women. Absolutely nothing.”

Jon looked up at Sandor. “What do you think I should do to win her heart?”

“You’re asking him?” Although Sansa had to admit to herself that she was extremely curious to hear his answer.

Sandor laughed. “Stay the fuck away from crazy, that’s what I say.”

“And yet here you are,” Jon said. 

Sandor stopped laughing abruptly.

“I’ve seen you like this before, Jon. You’ll be tired of her by the time the desserts come out,” Sansa said.

Jon made a face at her. “Fine, be in a mood.”

“I’m not …” She sighed as Jon wandered towards Daenerys. This was not worth an argument. She was confident in her own ability to predict Jon’s future.

“For the love of the gods,” Robb yelled, “can we play a damn game of volleyball already?”

“Alright, bossy.” Arya put her hands on her hips. “But Madame Fruit Loops is not allowed on my team.”

Daenerys bristled, but Jon was there to put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“We already decided the teams,” Robb said. “Just … just … get on the damn field.”

“Still don’t think I’m the smart one?” she murmured to Sandor as they followed Arya onto the volleyball field.

“Not sure,” he said, “but I hear you got a thirty-second shelf life on being the pretty one.”

Well, that was undoubtedly what she deserved for fishing for compliments. She stepped up to the net to take position next to Arya on the front row, as far away from Sandor Clegane in the back row as possible. The clouds floated past the sun, revealing its glory, and its rays tickled her nose and cheeks. There weren’t many days like this in Winterfell, and she should be enjoying the perfect weather instead of mulling over the opinions of strangers she’d never see again. The important thing was that she and Arya were side by side, facing Daenerys on the other side of the net. The Stark sisters united could never be forced apart.

“You’re going to look like an idiot playing volleyball in those sandals,” Arya said. “You’ll probably faceplant the first time you move.”

“I don’t remember asking for your advice,” she shot back.

But Arya had a point. Her strappy sandals were fashion forward, not built for athletics. What if she slipped on the grass and broke her nose or got a black eye? That would be fulfilling Daenerys’s prophecy! She held up the start of the game so she could take off her sandals and play in bare feet. 

“At this rate, we could wait for Robin,” Rickon said.

“Nothing else is stopping this game,” Robb said. “Shut up and give me the ball.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Sansa snaked back into position. “Who goes first?”

“We do,” Robb snapped.

“He’s getting testy,” Theon said apologetically. “I’ll cheer him up privately after this.”

At least Robb’s date was attentive to his needs. Jon’s date was insisting on serving first. Arya motioned to Sansa and Jojen to move their line closer to the net. Jon used Daenerys’ position as server as an excuse to get close to her and whisper suggestions in her ear. She brushed him off and lifted the ball into the air to give it a good thwack.

The ball sailed up high and came down in a strange, shaky parabola. Sansa shaded her eyes to look up, although it hardly helped block the bright sun.

“I got it!” Arya called.

“Are you sure?” She glanced at Arya skeptically, and then looked back up at the ball, which—

BAM! Severe pain flooded her sinuses as the world turned blindingly white. All of her bones collapsed. 

Before she was fully aware of it, she was lifted off the grass. Her surroundings were fuzzy. Everyone was yelling at each other, but that was nothing new. Her vision was cloudy, but when she rubbed her eyes, she hissed in pain and blinked back tears. At least she was being carried because she didn’t think she could walk. Wait, carried?

Sandor had her wrapped in his arms, her head leaning against his chest. Damn, he smelled great. Like summer and barbecue and freshly groomed dog. He had her high off the ground in a bridal carry, and everything was going by awfully fast. Hopefully, he was carrying her all the way to the house because she didn’t want him to put her down any time soon. 

His long hair brushed her cheek, and she tugged on a strand of it to get his attention. 

“You okay, little bird?” 

His voice dripped with concern. She wasn’t sure what to think anymore, wasn’t at all sure how to answer. The best she could come up with was, “She hit me in the nose, didn’t she?”

“I think you’ll survive. Unless your cousin marries the girl.” Gods, he wasn’t even out of breath. When he talked, she could feel his voice rumbling in his chest where it pressed up against hers. “You want me to put you down?”

“Yeeesss, but,” she said, “I’m still very dizzy. I don’t know if I can walk yet.”

He held her a little tighter. He was so warm. She had to admit, of the dozens upon dozens of family volleyball games she’d been forced to participate in, most of them had worse endings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The culinary creation Sandor has made for himself is a garbage plate. A real garbage plate would be covered in meat sauce, not hot sauce, but it's not the meat sauce you're thinking of, it's special garbage plate meat sauce, which is more similar to hot sauce than Italian meat sauce. Think of a hot sauce with simmered, very finely ground beef. Mmmm.
> 
> If I were more talented, I'd have Robb and Sansa communicate with each other in nothing but facial expressions and hand gestures. Because I'm about as far from canon as I can possibly get anyway.


	4. What Happens Underwater Stays Underwater

Half an hour later, Sansa threw her ice pack into the kitchen sink, tired of sitting alone indoors on such a fabulous day. Arya kept popping her head in to say that Daenerys had hit Sansa on purpose to make her prediction come true and that the Stark sisters needed to watch each other’s backs. As miffed as Sansa was that her face was no longer Instagrammable – on Northern Independence Day of all days! – she didn’t think Daenerys had plugged her directly in the nose with a volleyball on purpose. The scotch she’d been sipping all afternoon faded the pain to a background hum, and she was getting a slight thrill from Arya telling her how horrible Daenerys was. Sure, her nose was swollen and her face was bruised, but her revenge plan was working! Best of all, she couldn’t look more innocent of the plan’s machinations. Not only would Arya stop bringing obnoxious dates to family functions, but she’d also blame how the tables had turned entirely on Jon.

When Arya opened the kitchen door yet again, Sansa decided to extend the olive branch. “Why don’t we get away from Robb and Jon and take a dip in the hot springs?”

Once long ago, the hot springs were used as a primitive heating system for the Winterfell estate. In modern times, the springs had been left unmolested to form pools that the Starks used for relaxing and warm outdoor soaks. The pools were almost unbearably hot and steamy in the height of summer, but it wouldn’t be a Northern Independence Day party without a dip in the springs. 

Arya scowled. “You want to hang out with me? What do you want to do that for?”

“I want to get to know your friend Gendry.” Gendry came across as a real boyfriend, not a fake one, and Sansa was already imagining pleasant future parties with Gendry as Arya’s well-behaved better half.

Arya, of course, wanted to blow that goodwill to smithereens. “Am I supposed to get to know Sandor Clegane? Because I know he’s not your boyfriend.”

“Right, I forgot. I’m too shallow to date anyone who doesn’t look perfect.” Ugh, now she wouldn’t be able to escape bringing Sandor with her to the hot springs.

“You have a type,” Arya said. “Sandor’s not a trust fund brat and he doesn’t look like your usual willowy Hitler youth models.”

“Willowy?” Why she’d chosen that word to protest out of all the other words in that screed … “You know what, I think I’ll go find Jeyne instead and see if she wants to take a dip.”

“Ha! Have fun with Ramsay Bolton. Last time I saw Jeyne, she was tongue wrestling him while his new stepmother slathered him in sunblock.”

Yuck. “I’ll just go with Sandor then. We could use the alone time.” Or maybe she’d sit in the kitchen by herself for the rest of the day.

Arya’s smile was carnivorous. “I just changed my mind. Gendry and I would love to hang out with you and Sandor in the pools. I can’t wait to see how you two kids get along.”

Well, crap on a stick. “Great!” Sansa pitched her voice to her highest soprano. “I can’t wait!”

“Me either!” Arya matched her enthusiastic pitch and scrunched up her nose in a cutesy manner.

Crap, crap, crap. “I’ll find Sandor and we’ll get into our bathing suits. Meet you there.”

Arya laughed in her face. “Yeah, right you will. You’re such a bad liar.”

Sansa pushed past her and marched out the door. She’d show Arya what a real relationship looked like. 

Her determination dribbled away when she spotted Sandor back at the food. Rickon was watching him devour what appeared to be a whole chicken reassembled from barbecued parts. With his hands, naturally. Yeah, they probably wouldn’t be showing Arya what a real relationship looked like. She wasn’t sure what made her think she knew how to act in a real relationship, never mind a fake one.

“We just checked on the dogs,” Rickon reported. “Man, they get along great. Stranger’s like their long lost brother.”

“Good, good,” she said, averting her eyes as Sandor shoved an entire chicken wing in his mouth and pulled out the bone. “We’re going to take a swim in the hot springs.”

“I’m gonna go see if Robin thinks he can beat me in a chicken wing eating contest,” Rickon said. Hope springs eternal, she supposed. At least one of the Starks could claim to be an optimist.

“I don’t feel like going swimming,” Sandor said.

“That’s fine with me. I’ll tell Arya you just ate a disgustingly massive amount of food, shall I?”

“You got more of an edge on you in person than you did texting.” He talked with his mouth full. “Something about this party brings something out in you.”

“It’s called patriotism,” she said.

“I’ll bet you think you’re the nice one. You’re a little hypocrite.”

She _was_ the nice one. She heaved a dramatic sigh. “I did thank you for saving me from the volleyball barrage, didn’t I?” 

He’d been rude about that, too, mimicking her voice instead of saying “you’re welcome” like a normal person. Just when she’d been warming up to him, he had to go and ruin it. Ever since he’d carried her off the field like a Byronic hero, he’d been insulting her, and she had no idea why.

“Tell your twisted sister whatever the fuck you want. I’m staying put.”

“You do that.” Then she remembered her manners, not being a hypocrite and all. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the picnic. I’m going to change into my bikini now, and maybe I’ll see you later.”

He followed her back to the house. “Stupid fucking ad and stupid fucking Bronn. I guess I have to go swimming now.”

She almost started to argue with him, but she spotted Arya and Gendry heading to the house. “Thank you,” she said instead. “Perhaps we can manage to be civil to each other? As part of the, uh, the thing?”

“The nasty trick you’re playing on your only sister? That thing?”

“That exact thing,” she said, refusing to give into guilt. “It’s actually working like a charm. I don’t think Arya and I have ever gotten along so well.”

He didn’t have a clever rebuttal to that, so she pointed him in the direction of the downstairs bedrooms so he could change clothes. She and Arya headed upstairs at the same time, giving each other overly performative smiles. 

In her bedroom, she put on the new bikini a little nervously. She’d fallen in love with the pale beige material with the cocoa and turquoise art deco pattern, but that was before she had a fake boyfriend. Now she worried that it might reveal too much skin. A glance in the mirror reassured her that everyone would be looking at her red, swollen nose instead. An injury like that drew the eye. Stupid fecking volleyball and stupid fecking Daenerys.

By the time she headed downstairs, Arya was nowhere to be seen. Sandor waited for her in the kitchen, a towel draped around his neck and … oh my, if there was ever a time for a fortifying breath. Honestly, had he been forced to take the t-shirt off in the house? That was entirely unfair, although it was a good reminder that she may want to start watching mixed martial arts competitions. The perfect definition of the muscles on his abdomen made her fingers itch to pick up her sketchbook. Yes, that’s what her fingers were itching to do alright.

Just in case Arya was sneaking around, she gave Sandor an admiring look. Purely for the thing. Surprisingly, he gave her an admiring look in return, which was nice up until the second he twisted around to get a better look at her ass.

“Ready, sweetheart?” she said through gritted teeth.

“What? Oh, yeah, lead on.”

She put her hand on his forearm, recalling how that tended to throw him for a loop, and guided him past the greenhouse to the pools of the hot springs. With her hand resting on his arm, she thought they looked the very picture of a couple in love. Sure, Sandor’s aesthetic was unconventional … no, no, his all-black outfits were painfully conventional, in a counterculture way. It was the burn scars that were unexpected, but she was getting used to them. At least they’d stopped taking her by surprise whenever she met his eyes. Besides that, he was a strikingly good-looking man, although she supposed that was a huge “besides that.” Anyway, what did it matter what he looked like? He wasn’t a candidate to be her boyfriend. He was some trouble-maker Robb and Jon had scraped up from an online ad. All this pretending in the sunshine was going to her head.

Halfway between the house and the hot springs, Jeyne darted up and accosted them. “Oh, squee, you’re going to the springs! Can I come?”

“If you don’t mind spending time with Arya,” Sansa said. When they were children, Arya and Jeyne had a troublesome relationship filled with tears and insults and hair pulling, but to be fair, Arya had been like that with everyone. Jeyne squeed again and flew off, presumably to get her bathing suit.

Three-quarters of the way to the hot springs, Robb stopped them. “I need to talk to you about Jeyne.”

“Is this about Ramsay? Because you just missed her, and Ramsay wasn’t with her.”

“I hear that he called you a bitch boy this morning,” Sandor said in what might have been an urge to be helpful, had he been someone else talking about something different.

Robb beseeched the sky above. “I mean, Ramsay Bolton? Did I ever do anything at all to drive her into the arms of Ramsay Bolton?”

“You did show up with Theon,” Sansa said. “I’m not sure you’ve ever done anything to make Jeyne believe you cared whose arms she was in.”

Robb stared at her hand on Sandor’s arm. She leaned into Sandor more heavily, just to prove a point. She and Robb pulled a few faces at each other before he let them alone.

She and Sandor had never set guidelines on touching. They’d fallen into the pet names without discussion, but that was just normal. That could happen to any fake couple. But she knew he reacted strangely to physical contact, and she should probably stop needling him with it. Still, this was kind of nice, being supported by someone so strong and warm. She’d never been with a man like Sandor before. Her past boyfriends, Joffrey and Harry, had been rather … ugh, the word “willowy” was hard to avoid. 

Seven-eighths of the way to the hot springs, in some twisted version of Zeno’s paradox, a personal joke to herself only a nerd like Bran might appreciate, they were stopped by Theon. 

“Sansa, I need your help desperately,” he whined.

This was getting ridiculous. It may have been a sunny day, but it was still the North and the weather never got exactly tropical. Sansa hugged her arms over her bikini top, hoping her nipples weren’t poking out. “We’re going to the hot springs. If you want my help, meet me there.”

Theon nodded absently and wandered off. 

“What is this, Zeno’s paradox?” Sandor said under his breath, and she couldn’t help laughing.

He lifted his good eyebrow at her. “Oh, right, I’m not the smart one, sorry,” she said.

“You’re not gonna let me forget that, are you?”

She was being a little immature about it. “I should be used to it. People see me and Arya and they … make assumptions based on our appearances.”

“I can’t imagine people being assholes like that,” he said dryly.

They seemed to be reforging a truce, and just in time, too. Arya and Gendry were already snuggled together in the largest pool, and her eyes weren’t deceiving her, that was her sister snuggling up to someone. She longed to take a picture, but she’d ditched her phone in her bedroom since anyone she’d want to chat with was already at the party and her bikini obviously didn’t have pockets. 

“Can you take a picture of them and text it to me?” she asked Sandor.

“Nope.” He popped the p at the end. 

It was too late, anyway. Arya heard them coming and floated a few inches away from Gendry, her cheeks stained an adorable shade of red that matched her sporty one-piece suit. Sansa stepped into the pool and flinched at the heat. She decided to let herself get used to it by easing in gradually. Sandor, on the other hand, threw himself in, sat on the bottom, and immediately started cursing.

“What the fuck, this is fucking boiling.”

“Yes, it’s hot,” she said. “That’s why it’s called a hot spring.”

“The little bird thinks she’s funny. I’m turning into fucking soup here.”

She splashed him, using her cupped hands to soak his long hair. She didn’t think about it – if she had, she wouldn’t have done it. It was pure instinct, and she regretted it immediately, because he stared at her with a threatening intensity that ran goosebumps up her arms despite the heat. Before she could escape, he grabbed her calf and pulled it toward him, forcing her butt to hit bottom. The steaming water came up to her ribcage, and all her muscles tensed. She may have squealed. Hopefully, it was a ladylike squeal.

“You want to know what’s really funny?” Gendry said. “Arya thought the two of you were pretending to be a couple. She thought it was an act.” He laughed and flicked a little water at Arya.

“I still think it’s an act.” Arya flicked water back at him.

“Look at them,” Gendry said. “They’re hanging all over each other.”

“Excuse me?” Well-behaved Gendry was apparently a delusion born of her wishful thinking.

“My sister’s a better actor than you might think,” Arya said. “You should’ve seen her with her last boyfriend, Harry. Never an unkind word when she was with him, not a burp or a fart. Just the perfectly polite lady of high society.”

“Maybe that’s who I really am,” Sansa said. Why did Arya make it sound like a bad thing?

Arya laughed right in her face. Sansa crossed her eyes and flicked water at her. She didn’t need to be on her best behavior with Sandor and Gendry, for goodness’ sakes.

“They’re together. They might want to come to one of my shows,” Gendry said. “I have a gig in Kings Landing next weekend.”

“A stripper gig?” That just flew out of her mouth somehow.

Gendry’s jaw dropped. “You told your family I’m a stripper?”

“You are a stripper,” Arya said defensively.

“One time! One lousy bachelorette party. For charity!” He threw his head back and sank into the water up to his armpits. “I don’t believe this. No wonder Robb and Jon look like they want to throw rocks at me.”

Arya glared at Sansa, who tried to backtrack. “I think that’s just how Robb and Jon look. You know. Their natural faces?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a stripper,” Arya insisted.

Gendry appealed to Sandor, as if that would ever improve a situation. “Do they look at you like that?”

“Nobody looks at me like that,” Sandor said. “I got my own problems with Robb Stark.”

“You do?” Sansa asked, wondering why she was surprised. He probably did have problems with Robb. He probably had problems with everyone. Sandor didn’t bother to respond. 

“So that’s why your father doesn’t like me,” Gendry said, shaking his head.

Arya rolled her eyes. “I didn’t tell my father you’re a stripper. Yeesh, give me some credit.”

“I’m sure Dad likes you just fine,” Sansa said. “Today he’s just overly …” She struggled to find the right description.

“Patriotic,” Sandor suggested.

“Exactly!” Arya said.

Sandor remembered much too much of the things she said to him, but at least Gendry was distracting Arya from giving Sandor the third degree. Gendry seemed encouraged by her attention, too. He straightened up and leaned against the side of the pool, stretching his arms to rest on the surface. The pose displayed some of the artwork on his arms and chest, including a depiction of a charging bull and a stylistic hammer crossed over an anvil. They were very well done in a clean, modern style.

“I like your tattoos,” Sansa said, and it sounded perfectly polite, which was a good thing.

“Thanks,” Gendry said, also perfectly politely. “I designed them myself. I’m a tattoo artist. Performing music is mostly a hobby.” He frowned. “I guess Arya didn’t tell you that.”

“She did. She mentioned the tattoos,” Sansa said. “She was very, um, complimentary.”

“I was not,” Arya said, ducking her head almost shyly.

“What kind of music do you play?” Sandor asked, almost as if he routinely took part in normal conversations. A momentary illusion, Sansa was sure. Although the better Sandor and Gendry got along, the less inclined Arya would be to poke holes in their cover story.

“Punk metal fusion. My band’s named the Hollow Brotherhood. We’re playing at some trendy brewpub by the bay next Saturday, you should come. Ever hear of a place called White Cloak Brewery?”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Sandor said. “I work there.”

“No shit!” Gendry couldn’t have looked more thrilled. “You know a guy named Bronn?”

“You can’t be serious,” Sansa said, and then slapped herself on the thigh for having said it out loud. Fortunately, nobody could see her act so spastically under the steamy water. Of course Arya’s boyfriend travelled in the same social circles as Sandor Clegane. Of course he did. 

Gendry grinned at her. “Now you have to come to my gig. Keep Arya company while I’m on stage.”

Listen to punk metal fusion with Arya where Sandor cooked? _Noooo_ , her soul screamed. “Yes, that sounds fun,” her mouth said.

Sandor and Gendry kept talking, but she couldn’t make out their words over Arya’s cackling laughter and the wailing inside her brain. She … she hadn’t just agreed to a date next weekend with Sandor, had she? _Had she_?

Jeyne and Theon waded into the pool, cutting off her spiraling thoughts. Jeyne, who wore a beautiful forest green bikini that complimented her dark hair, settled in inch by inch across from Sansa. Theon plopped himself between Sansa and Arya, as always inattentive of the boundaries of their personal space. He flung a noodly, sunscreened arm around Sansa’s shoulders.

“Help me,” he said, trying to give her puppy dog eyes. “Your Aunt Lysa propositioned me. She pinched me!”

Sansa gasped. “Where?”

“Right by the beer keg.”

“No, that’s not … Never mind.” Some questions were best left unanswered. “I can’t believe she hit on you again.”

“Again?” Arya said. “This happened before? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Because Lysa had been embarrassingly drunk at Mom and Dad’s anniversary dinner, and Sansa had assumed that nobody would lack enough common sense to come on to Theon twice. “I … was giving Aunt Lysa the benefit of the doubt.”

“Pfft, save that for Dad’s side of the family,” Arya said. “Shit, Theon, do you want me to tell her to go screw off?”

Theon shrugged, all joints and ligaments. “I was kinda thinking of going for it.”

Sansa was too stunned to reply. 

“Do it!” Arya said. “Do it, do it, do it.”

“What is with this family and encouraging people to do crazy things?” Sansa said.

Sandor and Gendry exchanged a look over her head that was entirely too familiar.

Jeyne finally folded herself into a seated position. “Oh, honey, what would you get out of a relationship with an older woman like Lysa?”

Theon shrugged again. “Dunno. She seems nice. She’s sorta hot, you know, in a prissy, fussy, Sansa kind of way.”

Due to Theon’s distress, Sansa took the high road and ignored his comment.

“Does she have any money?” Sandor said, and so much for the high road.

“Hells yes,” Arya said. “Her first husband was loaded. She’s as rich as a Lannister.”

Theon perked right up. “I didn’t even think of that. Hey, thanks, Sandor.”

Sansa buried her face in her hands. “Yes, thanks so much, Sandor.”

Theon jumped out of the pool, splashing water. Sandor slid closer to her and stared into her face. She put her hands down and sighed. Why was he looking at her like that?

“You alright?” he said gruffly.

She nodded. It wasn’t an apology, but she wasn’t sure an apology was called for. Theon would have put two and two together eventually. Probably by the end of the year, at the very least.

“So, Sandor, how do you like our Northern Independence Day?” Jeyne asked.

His forehead creased in apparent confusion. “You know, it’s harder to get people’s attention than I thought it would be. It’s been a fucking uphill climb.”

“Don’t worry too much about Theon,” Jeyne said, naturally assuming Sandor was referring to Sansa’s attention rather than the promises implicit in Sandor’s online ad. “He’s always coming up with reasons for us to fuss over him. I’m sure he’s totally devoted to Robb.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Arya said.

Jeyne stood up and waved her arms. “Angel baby! I’m over here!”

Angel baby was, against all odds, Ramsay Bolton. He staggered over unsteadily, beer in hand. 

“Hey, bitches,” he said. “Coming in.”

He handed Jeyne his beer, missing her hand on the first try, and kicked off his sneakers. Next went the shirt, which he tossed behind his back, and then he started wiggling out of his shorts.

“You are not stripping down naked and getting in here with me,” Arya said.

Nope, nope, not watching that. Sansa turned her head, bringing her cheek practically against Sandor’s chest. That was a much better view, although when had he moved even closer to her? He had black hair across his chest and over his breastbone, which made her mind supply words like “virile” and “masculine” and “testosterone.” Her body raced ahead of her mind, and her breathing was shallow. She swallowed a deep breath of oxygen to compensate. The heat in the pool was crazy intense today. 

“I’m serious, Bolton, keep your pants on.” Arya’s screeching was growing more desperate.

“Skinny dipping is strictly forbidden,” Sansa said with the authoritative voice she used on Lady.

Ramsay made some kind of dismissive spitting noise. Not that Sansa was surprised. Ramsay never listened to anyone. His dogs were banned from their kennel since their owner wouldn’t follow the rules, and she didn’t expect to be the first person to make him reconsider his actions. Gendry got to his feet, though, which was rather chivalrous. It was difficult not to like Gendry, who had a stubborn charisma, although Sansa doubted it would work on an ass like Ramsay Bolton.

“Arya and Sansa are talking to you. This is their party,” Gendry said in a very reasonable manner.

Ramsay crossed his eyes, trying to focus on Gendry. “Do I know you? You sound like a Southerner.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Sandor said, with a lacing of his characteristic anger. “You’re going to do what Sansa and Arya tell you to do. Now.”

“Whatever.” Ramsay stopped undressing. He sat on the edge of the pool and stuck his bare feet in next to Jeyne. 

Sansa tried not to look smug, her shoulders relaxing. Her hand dropped into Sandor’s lap. Her pulse skipped, and she felt the weight of his stare as she reeled her hand back. Would his eyes be smoldering again if she looked directly at him?

“I’m only here to check on my girl anyway,” Ramsay said. “She disappeared without a word. Rude.”

“I’m so sorry, baby.” Jeyne pouted in remorse. “Theon had a romantic emergency.”

“Fucking Greyjoy is here? That whiny bottom bitch owes me.”

Ramsay stumbled over a towel and righted himself, if swaying back and forth could be called right, before pushing onward in search of Theon.

“Has he been drinking?” Sansa asked. Obviously, he’d been drinking. What she meant was that Ramsay was completely shitfaced, but she hoped Jeyne could figure that out from her concerned tone. And all the staggering.

“So what if he’s been drinking?” Jeyne was defensive. “He works hard. He deserves to unwind.”

“Um, yes, he seems unwound,” Sansa said. “I’m sure he works hard, though.”

Sandor snorted. “Drunk people never have the moral high ground.”

“That’s very true,” Sansa said. 

Arya barked out a laugh. “You should cross-stitch that on a sampler. Anyway, you should talk, Sandor, with how quickly your scotch disappeared.”

Sansa hoped Arya would credit the flush spreading up her face to the steam on the water. 

Sandor simply shrugged. “I never claimed any fucking high ground.”

“The sampler idea isn’t bad, though,” Jeyne said. “You could point to it every time Theon comes over.”

“Theon’s like Sandor. He’d never claim any moral high ground,” Arya said.

Sansa bristled. “I’ll thank you not to compare my boyfriend to Theon.” 

Now where had that come from? Oh, well, it sounded convincing.

A prickling sensation ran up her leg. Sandor had his hand on her knee and was giving it an experimental squeeze. Why was he doing that? He was the one who didn’t like to be touched, not her. She … didn’t mind it. She glanced at him without turning her head, and he was watching her intently, unblinking. Trying to see if he was bothering her, most likely. She nodded, giving him consent to leave his hand on her leg. Jeyne and Arya were involved in a surprisingly good-natured argument about moral high ground, and her nod probably looked like she was following their conversation. She couldn’t. She couldn’t focus on anything but Sandor and the feel of his calloused fingers massaging her. He rubbed his way up her leg, moving his hand to the middle of her thigh. His stare burned in its ferocity. His fingertips pressed into her, and she shouldn’t be letting him do this in the pool with her sister, and gods, that felt _amazing_.

Jeyne was saying something about … something? Chipmunks, maybe? It was getting harder to breathe now. Sansa nodded very deliberately, twice. 

His hand moved slowly up her thigh, coming to rest at the junction with her hip. She drew in a shaky breath. He traced a line across her hip. His palm was huge, and the pressure caused a muscle contraction below her stomach. His fingers moved steadily between her thighs. Everything sounded far away now. Arya and Gendry laughing together might as well be coming from another time zone. She heard Robb’s voice as he approached but couldn’t distinguish words. Robb. Something about Robb tripped up her thoughts.

She suddenly remembered that Robb was _paying_ Sandor to be here. She jumped to standing, mortification robbing her of speech.

“You alright?” Robb asked as he landed next to Jeyne.

She straightened her back and sniffed. “I’ve been submerged too long. It’s going to ruin my skin.”

She got out of the pool and refused to look back at Sandor Clegane. Her heart hammered in staccato as she walked away, staggering as much as Ramsay had. Lust drunk. On a man hired by Robb and Jon. Could she possibly sink any lower?

She knew what to do next. She’d rejoin the party with her parents and aunts and uncles. That was a great plan. Some wholesome family bonding would be a balm on her soul. If she could count on her family for anything, she could count on them being a distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm changing the rating from M to T since I'm not getting any smut written. This may go back to M when the last chapters are done, where hopefully things will heat up. I have trouble knowing where the line is between ratings, but I'm not sure it's fair to call this M at this point in time. I need more personal writing time, but then again, don't we all? Thanks so much for your comments. I'm glad my attempt to cheer myself up this COVID summer without fun gatherings is making people smile!


	5. My Mother’s Potato Salad is Better than Yours

After changing back into her sundress and fixing her hair, Sansa hoped to catch up with her uncles, Benjen and Edmure, but no such luck. Before she could reach Uncle Benjen, she was waylaid by Jon’s mother, her Aunt Lyanna. 

“Who’s this girl he’s with?” Aunt Lyanna asked. “He won’t even introduce me. He’s been following her around like a lovesick puppy, but he doesn’t introduce his mother?”

Lyanna could be a touch narcissistic. Really, just a tad, not enough to make her too unlikeable. But naturally, Aunt Lyanna was in a state of shocked disbelief that Jon’s first priority hadn’t been making sure his mother met his new girlfriend. Also naturally, Aunt Lyanna expected that everyone around her would want to rectify this oversight immediately.

“Tell Jon I want to speak to him,” Aunt Lyanna commanded. “At this point, he’s being impolite by not bringing her over to meet me.”

With her nose still aching, the last person Sansa wanted to see was Daenerys, and the last thing she wanted to do was stick her sore nose into Jon’s troubled relationship with his mother. She needed to follow Jon’s lead. She spotted Daenerys and Jon far out back, headed for the greenhouse, and shifted around to block the view from Lyanna. She waited a beat to give Jon a chance to get out of sight. “I’ll bet they’re checking on Ghost. I’ll go look for them by the kennel.”

Oh, the lies were piling up today. Arya was right. She was a better actor than she’d ever realized. Too bad she’d never taken advantage of this strength to join a travelling theater troupe, one that would take her far, far away to Essos, where her family could never hope to find her. So many paths not taken. 

Her current path led to the kennel, where Sandor Clegane reached over the fence to pet his dog. Sansa had never seen anyone tall enough to reach over the formidable fence that penned the wolfhound pack. She took a deep breath. She hadn’t meant to make him feel unwelcome when she ran away from the hot springs. She’d just been completely overwhelmed by her reaction to his touch. It was a shock to realize she was so starved for affection. It wasn’t like he’d touched her without getting her approval. This was entirely her own fault for not setting clear guidelines for physical contact up front, and now she owed him an apology.

“Hey,” she said. “Enjoying the party?”

“Getting Stranger ready to leave,” he said. “I’ve done enough fucking damage.”

“You don’t have to leave,” she said. “You haven’t done anything wrong. And my family seems to like you.” 

That was the closest she’d come to the truth in hours, but Sandor gave her such a slack-jawed expression of disbelief that she started laughing. Lady yipped at her, trying to join in. Sansa opened the gate to say hello to Lady, and Sandor followed her inside the fence. 

“Your family wasn’t supposed to like me,” he growled. “What kind of crazy ass people like me?”

“If it makes you feel better, I’m sure they don’t all like you.” 

Really, was every conversation with him going to end up this bizarre? Best get to the point and stop letting him take her on strange tangents. She focused on scratching Lady’s ears, wishing she’d worn sunglasses as it was hard to look Sandor in the eye. “So, uh, I want to apologize for the, um, excessive physical expressions of affection.”

“The what?” He squatted to let Stranger jump up and sniff his face. “You’re apologizing to me for that? That’s bullshit, Sansa.”

“No, no, it’s really not.” Her face burned uncomfortably. Her brain insisted on noting this was the first time he’d said her name. “After all, you asked for my consent before you, um, you know, initiated physical contact. I kept putting my hand on your arm even though you clearly didn’t like it.”

He stayed on the ground, staring at his dog. Boy, he made squatting look easy. He must have excellent thigh muscles. How long could he stay in that position? Mother have mercy, how had she ended up riding this train of thought? It would be great if he said something characteristically obnoxious so her mind could switch tracks.

“Didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he said, after the world’s longest awkward pause. 

“Well, that’s good, but I should’ve asked first.”

“Hmmmph.” He stood up. “It’s alright. You can … keep doing that. If you need to. I know you gotta sell the thing.”

“Yes, exactly, the thing.” She felt a sudden rush to justify the physical contact. “It is sort of required. Nobody would believe I wouldn’t touch my boyfriend. We’re a very tactile family.”

“Yeah, I fucking noticed that,” he muttered. 

“You should stay. Later, we’ll have dessert and fireworks.” A bonfire, too, but she doubted he’d be interested in that. And she realized that she wanted him to stay. Despite what he kept insisting, he was a good person to be around when things got too chaotic.

“Eh, maybe I’ll stay for the fireworks.”

“Please do. It’s always a good time prying them out of Rickon’s hands.”

He snorted, almost a laugh. “Alright, I don’t want to run away with my tail between my legs. I said I’d torment your sister, and I hate to be a liar.”

They said goodbye to the dogs, and Sansa latched the fence. “It’s so odd. I don’t try to irritate Arya, but she’s always annoyed with me anyway.”

“You don’t try to irritate her? You fucking got me here as a freelance irritant.”

“You really need to work harder to earn that freelance status,” she said. “It’s like all you thought you’d have to do to upset Arya was show up.”

“You got me.” They walked back to the party side by side. Sansa felt much lighter now that her apology had been accepted.

“You’re not expecting an online review, are you?” she teased.

“Nah. After this party, I’m retiring.”

She craned her neck to look up at him. “Have you ever done this before? Or am I your first client?”

He scoffed. “No, I’ve never done this before. Bronn just placed that ad to bust my balls. Bronn’s kind of a dick.”

“So my family party forced you into retirement on your first day.” That was … completely predictable, she supposed. 

But he hadn’t retired yet. He stayed very close to her, their hands almost brushing. She suspected she’d missed a lot of subtext in their conversation, but she couldn’t help feeling like it had gone well regardless. 

They wandered past the house to the backyard pavilions. Directly to their right, Aunt Lysa and Petyr were locked in an argument that consisted of whisper shouting at each other as if they were invisible to everyone else. Directly to their left, Aunt Lyanna was practically standing on a table to get a good look around for Jon. It was going to be impossible to fight her way through the cloud of aunts to get to neutral territory. Unless she managed to look completely preoccupied with someone else.

“How do you feel about hand holding?” she asked.

He froze. “You mean, like … holding hands? That’s what you mean?”

She stopped walking when he did. His expression was inscrutable. What could he be afraid of? “Alright, never mind,” she said gently. “This is why I should always ask first.”

“No, it’s … That’s ….” He growled low in his throat. “For fuck’s sake, it’s fine.”

He snatched her hand and squeezed it like he was trying to compress her arteries. She smiled through the pain. “Now we just have to gaze at each other all starry-eyed while we head to the beverages. I could use some iced tea. Try to look at me like you’re completely fascinated with me.”

“Starry-eyed? Where do you get this shit?” But he did a good job of keeping his gaze focused on her. If his eyes perhaps dipped toward her cleavage, that was probably part of the thing. It wasn’t like she had a lot of assets to show off in that area.

“Do you want some iced tea?” She tried to say it flirtatiously, although it didn’t lend itself to that.

“It’s not that sweetened crap, is it?”

“Of course not! Sandor Clegane, this is the North. We’re not _monsters_.”

They made it successfully through the gauntlet of aunts, only to have Arya fly out of nowhere and practically tackle Sansa next to the lemonade and iced tea dispensers. 

“There you are!” Arya sounded much too victorious, as if finding Sansa had won her a prize in a scavenger hunt. “I was just telling Gendry that what I want to do today more than anything else is spend time with Sansa’s new boyfriend. Right, G?” She elbowed Gendry rather viciously. Oh, well, better him than Sansa.

Gendry shot Sandor an apologetic look. “It’s either that or find out which one of the brothers can stare at me the longest without blinking.”

“Bran,” Sansa and Arya said simultaneously.

Gendry grinned and tugged Arya into a nearby chair. “Good, I’m glad we checked that off the bucket list.”

Sandor dropped Sansa’s hand, turned his back, and left them without a word. Sansa tried to cover her nervousness by pouring herself an iced tea. “Are you having a good time, Gendry?”

“It’s been memorable,” Gendry said. “Your father asked me what I thought of Northern independence, and I’m wondering if there was a right answer or if it was a trick question.”

She found a chair across the table from Gendry. “Oh, dear, he asked Sandor, too. Fortunately, Robb came over in the nick of time.”

“Lucky you,” Arya said. “Gendry made the mistake of bringing up the Riverlands mess. I had to dump a cup of lemonade on his leg to rescue him.”

Ooh, the Riverlands. Sansa flinched in sympathy. Gendry, though, practically quivered with happiness. “That’s my lady. Always coming to my rescue.”

Arya’s cheeks glowed red. “Shut up, dork.”

Holy moley, if things kept on like this, he and Arya were going to end up engaged. Sansa had never seen Arya be her genuine self in front of a guy before. She made it seem so effortless. Anytime Sansa had brought a guy home to meet the family, she would run back and forth all day, telling her family to behave while telling Joff or Harry that really, they’d just caught her family on a bad day, really, they were normal people and not disasters at all. By the end of it, she’d be sweating from the strain.

Sandor crashed down next to her and put an overflowing plate of food on the table. 

“You’re back,” she said. “I was wondering. I should’ve realized you were getting food again.”

“This is for you,” he said with a menacing sneer. “You haven’t eaten a damn thing today.”

“I had ice cream. You watched me.” Closely and ardently, if memory served. She dropped eye contact at the thought. She really should’ve put on sunglasses.

“You gonna survive on ice cream all day?” He pushed the plate in front of her.

“Half the fun of a Northern Independence Day party is the excuse to eat ice cream all day,” she said. 

But Sandor had put a generous helping of her mother’s potato salad on the plate, and no potato salad could compare. The caterers had been forbidden to try. She took the fork he dangled in front of her. She’d just eat the potato salad, and maybe the coleslaw, if it didn’t have anything weird in it.

“Best potato salad in the world,” Arya said. “Right, G?”

“I have to admit, that was pretty damn good,” Gendry said. “Not too much egg, not too much onion.”

“Hmmph,” Sandor said. “I thought it was amateur. Too dry.”

Oh, now, there was trying to annoy Arya and then there was committing sacrilege. Such an assault on the family honor could not stand. 

“How dare you?” Arya hissed. “How very dare you?”

“Sandor thinks he has a cultured palate,” Sansa said. “As you can see, he’s objectively wrong.”

She scooped up a forkful of potato salad and waved it in front of him. “Mmmm,” she hummed. Slowly, making sure he was looking, she swirled her tongue around the food, like in some bad teen movie, like this stunt ever worked in real life and would ever work with warmed mayonnaise. His eyebrows rose. He really did have amazing eyes. Arya muttered something to Gendry, but Sansa refused to stop looking at Sandor. She swallowed the potato salad, feeling completely absurd, and took another forkful and held it out to him.

“Open up, sweetheart,” she purred.

She was surprised when he opened his mouth and let her hand feed him, although if the muttering from the other side of the table was any indication, they were finally annoying the crap out of Arya. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple working, staring at Sansa so intently that she didn’t dare blink. The fork fell from her hand.

He cleared his throat. “Nope,” he rasped. “Paprika in potato salad is still a crime.”

Arya picked up the fork, filled it with potato salad, and flung it directly in Sandor’s face. He grabbed a napkin, jumped to standing, and loomed over the table. 

“You think I won’t dump this iced tea over your head, feral girl?” he growled.

Arya skittered a few feet away. “Not funny. Gendry, stop laughing.”

Gendry did not stop laughing. “Dude, just tell them you like the potato salad before they escalate.”

Sansa was biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing. Sandor tilted his head and zeroed in on her lip. “Escalate, you say?”

Her breath caught. Then someone called out her name. She turned her head just in time to see Theon sprint across the yard, the first time she’d ever seen Theon run even though they’d been on their high school track team together. He wasn’t the one calling her name, though. It had sounded like Aunt Lysa, but she was still arguing with Petyr. Their argument was getting much louder.

“I didn’t come here to be mocked by your latest boy toy,” Petyr said, nostrils flaring.

“Neh neh neh neh neh,” Arya said in perfect imitation. Gendry actually giggled at her. Somehow, it came off as charming. 

“You just made Sansa in her bikini your phone’s screensaver,” Lysa screeched.

There were only two people in the crowd who didn’t immediately turn to stare at Sansa with laser-like focus. Unfortunately, those two people were Lysa and Petyr, who just kept rolling. 

“At least I haven’t propositioned your niece at a large party.”

“Maybe you should! It would be more honest than brushing up against her ass all day!”

Sansa buried her head under her arms. “Please make it stop,” she said.

“Gladly,” Arya said. She picked up a plastic squeeze bottle of mustard from the table and pitched it at Petyr’s head. Her aim was way off, and as it turned out, their father was striding over to Petyr’s side to break up the argument. The mustard bottle collided with his chest. Bright yellow spattered all over his “party Dad” tropical print shirt. He glared in their direction, his scowl landing on Gendry.

“Aw, that’s not good,” Gendry said quietly. 

“Leave him alone, Dad, that was me,” Arya shouted.

Lysa fluttered her hands by her face. “Ned, what’s going on with your girls today? Between Arya trying to cause a riot and Sansa parading around in a see-through bathing suit—"

Sansa didn’t hear the rest. The high-pitched whine that came out of her was involuntary and only added to her total humiliation. 

Sandor wrapped his hand around her elbow and pulled her to standing. “Come on. We’re going for a walk to check on the dogs.”

She let Sandor lead her away from the pavilion, ducking her head and concentrating on the ground so her hair would cover her face. They were over the rise separating the backyard from the kennels before she could get enough air in her lungs. Sandor kept his hand steady on her arm, holding her up, until she could brace herself on the kennel fence. Definitely a good person to have around during chaos. He went to pat her back and thought better of it, curling his hands into fists.

“Thank you for the rescue,” she said.

“What a fucking asshole,” Sandor said. “I could tell he was a groper as soon as I saw him.”

“I think the current disaster is more Lysa’s fault than Petyr’s.” She sighed. “Although yes, he’s very much a groper.”

“You should’ve told him to choke on the stick up his ass.”

She chuckled. “That sounds like more of an Arya thing. I’m not good at, you know, telling people off and tossing condiments.”

“Neither is your sister.”

She didn’t say anything for a while, reflecting on Arya coming to her defense, but it was a comfortable silence. Sandor leaned over the fence and whistled to his dog. “What are you doing over there, boy, huh? Having too much fun to come to Daddy?”

Daddy? That was ridiculously adorable. She watched Sandor bend over to scratch his dog, and she absolutely wasn’t going to … no, okay, she was going to check out his butt. Couldn’t help it, really. All that musculature was irresistible, and he must’ve worked so hard at it. A butt like that deserved to be admired.

He snapped his head around. “What?”

“What?” She could feel her blush spread from her hairline to her chest.

“You were staring off into space or some shit.”

She nodded emphatically. “Yes. Yes, I was. Just lost in thought, I suppose.” She grabbed a piece of flotsam from her memory. “Before there was a kennel here, my brothers and Arya and I used to come out here and play the Hit Sticks game.”

“Huh. What’s the Hit Sticks game?”

“Pretty much what it sounds like. You whack each other with sticks as hard as you can. I never wanted to play, so they’d make fun of me. You know, _ooh, look at prissy little Sansa who’s scared to be hit_.”

“So how do you win?”

“I don’t know. Apparently hiding in the cellars with lemon cakes and graphic novels is a losing strategy.” She shrugged, trying to project a casual affect. 

The burns on his face gave him a lopsided smile, and that was also ridiculously adorable. “Ah, hiding from family in the basement with comic books. Takes me right back.”

She smiled back at him, almost wishing he’d take her arm again. But that had been for show, and now they were alone. “How many brothers do you have?” she asked him.

His facial expression closed off immediately. His entire body tensed, his shoulders coming up by his ears. “I don’t have any brothers.”

“Oh. It’s just that earlier, when I was complaining about my brothers, it sounded like you—”

“I said, I don’t have any brothers.” His jaw was clenched tight. Stranger nosed at him through the fence, offering comfort.

“Okay. Sorry. I misunderstood.” She opened the gate and clapped her hands for Lady to give her something to do rather than stare awkwardly. She hadn’t meant to jab a live wire.

She could hear him breathing. She focused on straightening Lady’s collar.

“I have a sister. She’s older.” He gave it to her like a peace offering.

“That’s … that’s good. It’s good to have a sister,” she said, because apparently she couldn’t think of anything less hypocritical to say.

Shaggydog’s bark cut off whatever Sandor’s answer might have been. Summer joined in, causing all the dogs to stick their noses in the air.

“Blahhhh!” Rickon yelled out of nowhere. He barreled down the rise, ran into the kennel, and slammed into her, grabbing her in bear hug. Bran and Robin were behind him, approaching at a less Rickony pace.

“We came to check on you,” Rickon said.

“I’m fine. But you’re very sweet.” She tousled Rickon’s hair, and he sighed in resignation. It probably wasn’t right to treat him like the baby, but she couldn’t help it sometimes. He didn’t do much to discourage it. When the whole family got together, it felt like they all reverted back to childhood roles.

Bran rubbed circles on her back. “Seriously, you sure you doing alright?”

She gave him reassurances while Sandor mouthed “tactile family” to himself, which she pretended not to notice.

“I’m sorry Petyr’s such a twat,” Robin said. “My mom, too. Also a twat.”

“Hey!” Rickon’s face lit up. “You should spend the rest of the summer here! Right, Bran?”

“There’s always room for friends and family at Winterfell,” Bran said.

Robin was silent for a moment, thinking it over. She thought Rickon might explode as he bounced on his heels.

“Nah,” Robin finally said. “Your Wi-Fi sucks.”

“I could stay at your house!” Rickon said. “I don’t have to take Shaggy. Look at him, he’s happy here hanging out with Sandor’s spoiled dog.”

“Spoiled?” Sandor sounded absolutely blindsided by the obvious description.

“Coddled,” Sansa said. As Bran still looked concerned about her state of mind, she added, “We were just about to take Stranger and Lady out for a walk. Sandor hasn’t seen the Godswood yet.”

“If you come down into the backyard at dusk, you can see the fireflies come out,” Bran said. “It’s an awe-inspiring sight. When we were little, Sansa used to tell us they were fairies, and if we caught one, it would grant us a wish.”

“Did it work?” Robin asked.

“Nah, when you catch them, it turns out that they’re gross looking bugs,” Rickon said. “But back in the day, Arya told me that if you eat enough of them, your wish comes true.”

“Rickon,” Bran said, “how many bugs did you eat?”

“You mean fireflies or bugs in total?”

“Have fun on your walk,” Bran said to Sandor. “After everyone else leaves tonight, we can weigh Rickon and find out how much bug weight he’s gained.” Then he motioned to Rickon and Robin. “Come along, goons.”

He headed to the house, Rickon and Robin in tow. She heard Rickon still making his case. “We can be called Bran’s Goons! Come ooon, it’ll be fun.”

Her brothers and Robin coming to check on her cheered Sansa. If Robin didn’t think she’d done anything wrong, maybe she didn’t need to hide in shame.

“I hope you don’t mind that I suggested a walk to the Godswood,” she said. 

“What about Arya?” Sandor said. “We’re not tormenting her anymore?”

Oh, right, that. Sansa had lost her taste for getting back at Arya, but if she admitted that, Sandor might decide his job was done. “I’m sure Arya will find us after the walk,” she said diplomatically.

“Alright.” He found Stranger’s leash where he’d left it hanging near the gate. “Stranger could use a chance to stretch his legs before the ride home.”

He still had a three-hour drive back to Kings Landing. That seemed over the top, much too exhausting after a day spent in the sun. “Why don’t you stay over tonight?”

He squinted at her in disbelief. “I don’t think so. Nobody said anything to me about a fucking sleepover.”

Why did everything with him feel like such a challenge? “It wasn’t part of our initial negotiations, but we couldn’t have invited you to stay over before we knew you. You advertised yourself as the fighting felon.”

“You still don’t know me.” So it wasn’t her imagination. He wanted everything to be a challenge.

“I know enough to feel safe inviting you to stay over. You won’t be the only one. Gendry’s staying over. I can guarantee Theon will stay over, and probably the Reeds as well.” She motioned to the main house. “We have plenty of room.”

“Forget it.” He continued fussing with his spoiled dog’s leash and collar. “I have to sleep near Stranger in case he needs to go out. And I’m too tall to sleep on some couch in your family room squeezed in between fucking Theon and Gendry.”

Those were good objections, she had to admit. There was nothing wrong with wanting to sleep in one’s own bed. But somehow, words kept bubbling to the surface. “You can stay in my bedroom.”

His attention immediately left Stranger and went to her, and everything got very still and quiet as he stared at her. 

“Um, I just mean you could have my bed.” That didn’t sound any less suggestive. “I mean, I’d go bunk with Arya for the night. And you and Stranger could have my room.”

Her fingers tangled in her hair, an old nervous habit. Sandor’s long hair looked soft after the dip in the hot springs, all sun-kissed and windblown. This, she recognized, was not a productive area of thought at the moment.

“You don’t have to do that for me,” he said. 

“I know I don’t have to, but …” And that was another sentence she didn’t know how to finish. 

It wasn’t worth a struggle. If he wanted to keep things professional, that was fine with her. Why wouldn’t it be? Of course Sandor didn’t want to spend another day being her fake boyfriend. He had his own life, his own friends and family, complete with his own sister to annoy. For all Sansa knew, he had a girlfriend. 

No, that couldn’t be right. No self-respecting woman would let her partner pretend to be in a relationship with whomever happened to respond to an online ad. Sandor shouldn’t be day tripping around Westeros with his cute little dog, rescuing damsels in distress while showing off his physique in a bathing suit on the whim of anyone else …

… Is what she’d say if she was his real girlfriend. Which she emphatically wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only potato salad with eggs I will eat is my mother's. I would post the recipe, but I haven't been trusted with it yet. Knowing my mother, that probably means her potato salad has 500 calories a spoonful. But damn, is it good.
> 
> The recipe for iced tea is ice plus tea. It's right in the name.


	6. Let the Adults (Who Have Been Drinking All Day) Handle the Fireworks, Kids

The clearing at the center of the Godswood was lit eerily by the angled rays of the lowering sun. Shadows moved quickly here, and Sansa had forgotten how strange the face on the heart tree looked in the summer when the canopy blocked the light, making the dark Godswood a striking contrast to the outer world. Goosebumps raced down her arms. The dogs were unaffected, though. Stranger tugged on Sandor’s leash, eager to lap from the black pool by the heart tree. Lady, on the other hand, was exhausted from the day’s events, and Sansa let her flop down on the path for a nap.

“I think she has arthritis in her hips,” Sansa said. She ran her hands through Lady’s silky hair and made her wiggle. “I wish they could stay young forever.”

“Is that what you do here?” Sandor asked as he appraised the heart tree suspiciously. “Wish for things?”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “It’s not a sept.”

“Is that what you think happens at a sept?” He sounded on the verge of laughter, as if he was hoping she’d say something scandalous.

“No, no, I didn’t mean to be offensive.” This to a man whose dog was named Stranger. “I just mean we don’t pray here the same way. The spirits of the forest don’t listen like that.”

“If I want to wish for things here, eat a firefly. Got it.”

“You’re so obnoxious.”

He was still entranced by the heart tree, though, and couldn’t see her shake her head. The failing light made the face on the tree look harsher than usual. 

“He’s not very fucking pretty,” Sandor said, but quietly. 

“Oh, but you should see how beautiful it is here during a wedding. They take place after sunset, and we put fairy lights in the trees and everyone carries candles.”

“So you like it here at night, when you can’t see the tree guy.”

“The tree guy?” She’d be more offended if she didn’t think Sandor was pulling her leg. “It’s not supposed to be pretty. This is a place for truth. That’s why people say their wedding vows here. You have to tell the truth in the center of the Godswood.”

“So I can ask you whatever the hell I want right now, while the tree guy is watching you, and you have to answer truthfully.”

“Not remotely what I said.” This conversation shouldn’t be amusing her as much as it was. “Wait, does this mean I can ask you whatever I want and get an honest answer?”

She was stopped short by the hurt look on his face. “I’ve always told you the truth,” he said. “A Hound will die for you, but never lie to you.”

 _Then why did you tell me you don’t have any brothers?_ she wondered, but didn’t say it out loud. She wasn’t going within a mile of that topic.

“Okay,” she said instead, “I’ll give you one question.”

“Why do you live in Kings Landing instead of Winterfell?”

She’d expected a more difficult question. “It was the only place I could find a teaching job. Inexperienced art teachers aren’t exactly in high demand. I’d feel like a vulture staying here just waiting for one of the grade school art teachers to retire.”

“You like working with children?”

Since when did Sandor Clegane go in for small talk? “Sure. Don’t you like children?”

“Children don’t like me.” In one long stride, he was inches in front of her. “Look at me, Sansa. Children think I look like a monster.”

Her heart sunk like a stone. He was wrong, so very wrong, and she wanted to find whoever had made him think this way and claw them into pieces. She put her hands on his forearms and spoke emphatically. “You don’t look like a monster. Not even a tiny little bit.”

She almost added more, almost admitted that she thought he was very handsome, but she knew he wouldn’t believe her, not even in the Godswood.

He glanced over his shoulder at the heart tree. “Alright, little bird, if you say so.”

This time, the endearment wasn’t for public consumption. It sounded affectionate. Or maybe he just liked teasing her. She found herself okay with that. The pain in his expression was still churning up too many other, less gentle emotions. He had a brother, she knew he did, and she could bet he was the one who’d made Sandor feel so terrible about himself. Oh, and whoever Bronn was, who thought it would be funny to write that awful ad about Sandor. Maybe she’d find this White Cloak Brewery and give Bronn a piece of her mind. Although maybe she’d give Bronn a pass since the ad had worked out in the end. 

Wait, had it? Dammit, this wasn’t an actual date. Why did she keep forgetting? Her hands were still resting in the crook of his elbows, and she realized she’d been stroking that soft skin with her thumbs. She dropped her hands, and he made an almost sub-vocal sound like a small whine, or maybe that was Stranger. Or her imagination. Right, probably her imagination.

“I think I’d better bring Lady back. She’s worn out.” Her voice shook. She bent to find Lady’s leash, hoping she didn’t look as flustered as she sounded. 

“Yeah, I think Stranger just drank his fucking weight in mosquito larvae.” He clicked his tongue, and Stranger immediately came to heel. That shouldn’t have been sexy, but it absolutely was. She forced herself to inhale through her nose. She was in all sorts of trouble here, wasn’t she? 

The walk to the house from the Godswood took them down a gentle slope. They called it Firefly Hill when they were kids because at dusk in the summer, glowworms lit up the grassy expanse. It was dusk now, and the fireflies twinkled on and off while the sunset painted the sky pink and orange. The grass tickled her ankles. Sansa stopped to admire the view. Evenings like this made her want to move back home. If only summer lasted forever. 

The whine of a mosquito in her ear got her moving again. One landed on Sandor’s tattoo, just below his sleeve. She slapped it away.

“Did you just fucking hit me again?” The tone of teasing laughter was back in the deep bass of his voice.

“Mosquito,” she said. Would it be too forward to push his sleeve up and get a good look at his tattoo? It depicted three black dogs, and she wanted to know its significance, but more than that, she wanted to trace the lines of it with her fingertip. For artistic purposes.

She turned away before she did something stupid. Suddenly, his hand was on the back of her shoulder blade, over the strap of her sundress.

“Mosquito,” he said. He moved his hand away slowly. His trailing fingers seemed to leave lines of silver sparks on her skin. Her heartbeat stuttered unevenly. Yeah, she was in huge trouble, for sure.

“I guess we better scare up some bug spray for the vermin,” she said.

Speak of the devil, there were Robb and Jon waiting at the bottom of the hill. Daenerys and Jeyne were with them. Sansa wondered if Jon had told Daenerys about the plot to foil Arya or if, the gods forbid, the woman thought Jon had asked her on a legitimate date. She couldn’t imagine the quantity of cringe involved if she asked Daenerys outright if she thought she and Jon were really dating and the answer was yes.

Daenerys was unafraid of cringe and literally threw herself at Sansa, getting Lady’s leash tangled around a leg. Daenerys embraced her while she tried to untangle Lady. 

“I’m so, so sorry, dear Sansa. I’ve been trying to find you and apologize all day.” Daenerys smile felt condescending. “You know I didn’t mean to hit you, I hope.”

“Of course. Please don’t worry about it a minute longer.” Although the scotch had worn off hours ago, along with whatever pain relief it offered. She’d managed to put it out of her mind with everything else on her plate, but having been reminded, her nose was beginning to throb again.

“I’d have been more worried if it wasn’t for your aura. Having a good day with Sandor, aren’t you?”

“My aura?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could bring them back.

Daenerys waved her hands like a seven-year-old describing a butterfly. “You’re both so pink. I have to admit, I’m envious.”

Sansa glared at Jon meaningfully and did not look at Sandor at all. “And … have you told Arya about this?”

“Hmmm, well, Arya’s aura gets all maroon around me.”

Jon shrugged. He and Robb were, as usual, no help whatsoever.

“Yes, I can imagine that would be a problem,” Sansa finally said. “You know, I should really take Lady back to—”

“Sandor! How are you?” Daenerys said. Oh, hells, no, she had better not be going in for a hug from Sandor without his permission.

“Jon, tell your girlfriend not to lunge at unfamiliar dogs,” Sansa said in her best commanding voice. “Stranger doesn’t like it.”

Daenerys froze in mid-lunge. Jon cleared his throat. “Yeah, San, I think you should ease up on the—”

“I’m so sorry, Sansa,” Daenerys said with an evil grin. Well, maybe evil was an exaggeration. Still, she was going to listen to Arya’s warnings. Arya was turning out to be right about a lot of things today.

“No need to apologize. I was just trying to protect you,” Sansa said.

She studied the dogs because the piercing look Sandor was giving her was way too much to handle head on. Stranger, meanwhile, slobbered all over Daenerys’s sandals. Come on, Sandor couldn’t give his leash a tug? She thought dogs were better judges of character.

Daenerys flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Anyway, you don’t have to call me Jon’s girlfriend when Arya isn’t here.”

Sansa exhaled in relief. “Oh, thank goodness. I was afraid to say anything if Jon hadn’t let you in on the plan. Sorry to act so, um, tense.”

Jon pouted. “Sure, that’s why you’re tense. Aren’t you and your fake boyfriend headed to the kennel?”

“What?” Jeyne’s wide-eyed surprise was almost comical. “You’re playing a trick on Arya? Robb, you’re not in on this too, are you?”

Robb’s jaw dropped. “You thought I brought Theon here as my actual date? For real?”

Sansa almost asked where Ramsay was, but fortunately, she caught herself in time. Jeyne deserved better. It made her sad to think Jeyne didn’t realize that, but she knew from hard experience what would happen if she tried to tell Jeyne. She remembered her own denial and defensiveness about Joffrey in much too vivid detail.

Daenerys had edged closer to Sandor while Sansa had been distracted. And was her gaze travelling over his arms and chest? Sansa would bet it was because who’d be able to resist? So much for the unassailability of pink auras, whatever that even meant. The next time Sansa saw Aunt Lyanna, she was throwing Daenerys to the wolves.

“We’re taking the dogs to the kennel,” Sansa announced loudly. 

“What’s the hurry?” Sandor said. “Stranger’s not in any rush.”

Sansa’s fingernails dug into her palms. “Do you always have to be so contrary?”

“Come on, Sansa, relax,” Daenerys said, causing every muscle in Sansa’s body to clench. “It’s bonfire time. Lots of big logs need lifting. I’m sure Sandor wants to help build the bonfire.”

Sandor squinted at her. “Lady, does it look like I want to go to a fucking bonfire?”

Daenerys drew herself up to her full height in a move surprisingly reminiscent of Aunt Lyanna. “I don’t see any reason to be rude about it.”

“Really?” Jon said, his eyebrows climbing. “You don’t? No reason at all?”

Sansa smiled at Sandor, perhaps a bit smugly. “What do you want to bet the desserts are out?”

To her utter shock, he smiled back at her. “Damn good prediction. I guess we can’t let you go without ice cream for more than a couple of hours.”

“He sure got to know you fast,” Robb said. 

Robb and Sansa made faces at each other that only Jon would be able to interpret. Not that there were any great concepts behind the nonverbal communication, but it seemed too immature to tell Robb out loud to stop trying to be the boss of her. She knew his “you’re being an idiot” expression too well.

“Just … whatever,” Robb finally said. “If you see Arya and Gendry, send them to the bonfire so we can put them to work.”

It had only taken a decade to extricate themselves from Robb and Jon, and now they were supposed to go find Arya? Although Sansa could’ve handled that whole encounter better. She didn’t know how Daenerys managed to get under her skin so easily, but now Sansa felt guilty for the way she’d practically barked at Jon’s friend. What had come over her? It hadn’t been jealousy, she was almost sure of that. It was just that Sandor had certain guidelines about physical affection, and they didn’t need to be challenged by a blonde in a dress riding so low on her cleavage, it must require a custom bra. Sandor wouldn’t mistake that as possessiveness. Would he? Just in case, it would be best not to mention anything about Daenerys ever again.

The sun finally faded out of view, creating a thick line of pale purple clouds on the horizon. It wasn’t quite dark yet. The dogs ambled along companionably, backtracking here and there to sniff at phantom animal tracks. Lady had perked up since her rest in the Godswood, and they had to keep stopping to coax the dogs back on the trail. The first time they stopped because Lady didn’t want to give up a scent, Sandor’s fingers ghosted the ends of Sansa’s hair, almost touching but not quite. The fluttering feeling returned to her stomach, and she covered by calling out to Lady, getting her moving again.

He obviously didn’t think she’d noticed because, when Lady and Stranger both tried to break for a honeysuckle bush, he tried it again. And again, he reeled his hand back just before making contact with her hair. She bit her lip and silently told her internal butterflies to quit it. A few steps later, he almost put his hand on her arm. By the time he almost rested his palm on the small of her back, she knew it without being able to see it in her peripheral vision. She could feel his body heat behind her. Her nerve endings stretched in anticipation, trying to leap the gap between them.

Where had all this hesitation been in the hot springs? He hadn’t been afraid to touch her there, so what had changed? She had to think this through logically. Maybe it was because she could look him in the eye out here. Maybe she could grab his wrist and force him to put his hand on her lower back. Huh, maybe logic wasn’t the best approach.

Then Lady and Stranger both sat down on their haunches and pricked up their ears, bringing the walk to a halt. Sansa ran her hand under Lady’s collar, trying to get her stand up, but she refused to move. Both dogs stared to the right, in the direction of the woods. Sandor creased his forehead and stared into the trees while he failed to touch her hair again. She ground her teeth in frustration.

BANG! So that was why the dogs were so obstinate. That sounded much bigger than a bottle rocket. Usually, the fireworks weren’t lit until after the bonfire was roaring. Maybe Uncle Benjen and Uncle Edmure had started lighting things off early. They should’ve waited until the dogs were secured.

The next firework was big enough to clear the treetops, lighting the dusky sky with gold streamers. Lady whined miserably. She hated fireworks. Sansa needed to get her home before she bolted.

With pleading on her part and soft whispers from Sandor, they managed to get the dogs going again. The ground evened out, and lo and behold, Uncle Benjen and Uncle Edmure were headed toward the woods, surrounded by a gaggle of Freys. Uncle Edmure detoured to shake Sandor’s hand and complain to Sansa.

“Why are Robb and Jon starting the fireworks early?” he asked. 

“They’re building the bonfire. I thought that was you setting off fireworks. Maybe it’s Dad?”

“Nah, your father’s busy arguing politics with Roose Bolton. Hey, do you think Roslin Frey is too young for me?”

“Much too young. She’s Robb’s ex, you know.” Arya’s proclivity to get involved with people like Hot Pie definitely came from Mom’s side of the family. 

“Robb’s ex-girlfriends are pretty thick on the ground,” Edmure said. “Everyone I’ve met today has dated Robb or Jon or—”

Sansa coughed loudly. “Ahem. Roslin’s walking awfully close to Uncle Benjen.”

That did the trick, and Uncle Edmure was off like a flash to catch up to the group headed to the bonfire.

Sansa sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce you properly. That was my—"

Whooosssh POP! Stranger started barking and running in a little circle while Lady whined and headbutted Sansa’s legs. She and Sandor caught each other’s eyes and said in unison, “Rickon.”

They headed to the woods, Sansa calling out both Rickon’s and Robin’s names as they went. Rickon should know better than to set off fireworks while she had Lady out on a walk. If Rickon was breaking the rules in such an obvious way while Mom and Dad were in earshot, it was probably to impress Robin. The dogs were going wild, and Lady managed to twist her leash around three legs and stay upright. 

“I can’t take her any closer to the noise,” she said. 

A smaller boom caused Stranger to throw himself to the ground like there was incoming fire, and the poor baby had a point. Sandor handed Stranger’s leash to Sansa. “You hold them. I see something in the underbrush over there,” he said.

“Oh, no, don’t go in that way,” she warned.

“It’s the fastest way to Rickon, right? Straight fucking line.”

“But—”

Of course, he wasn’t listening to her. He was too intent on stopping the noise before his thoroughly indulged dog started crying. She struggled to hold back Stranger as Sandor left the field and pushed through ankle-high bushes.

“You need to stick to the path,” she called out to him.

“Just a minute, I got Robin.”

“That’s not the way to the clearing. Come back.”

Sandor ducked out of view, and she heard a lot of cursing. If Rickon was anywhere nearby, the creative obscenities Sandor was spitting out would be enough to bring him out of hiding to express his admiration. It was pretty amazing to hear someone say “fuck” eleven times in a row and manage a different inflection each time. If he was this annoyed now, he was really going to be angry when she told him about the poisonous plants underfoot.

“Got ‘em.” Sandor stood up holding an orange tabby by the scruff of its neck. The cat hissed and clawed at his wrist while Stranger and Lady barked and strained at their leashes. 

“That’s a cat,” Sansa said, feeling a bit stupid for stating the obvious. “I don’t own a cat.”

“This isn’t Robin?”

“No! Who would name a cat Robin? That doesn’t make any … look, Robin’s my cousin.” She had to speak loudly to be heard over the dogs, but she added, despite her better judgement, “You know, this illustrates the dangers of not introducing people properly.”

The cat clawed its way down Sandor’s leg and zoomed into the undergrowth with an indignant yowl. The dogs sounded the alarm as if there were an assassin in the bushes. Sandor stomped over and grabbed Stranger’s leash from her hand, flared nostrils and hard set to his jaw betraying his temper. Still, there was no point in delaying the inevitable.

“I’m afraid you have to go to the house and get cleaned up,” she said. “The black dot ivy you stepped in causes severe contact allergies, much worse than regular poison ivy.”

He actually growled at her. “What the fuck. Why do you have fucking poison ivy next to a fucking path?”

“We didn’t plant it. It just grows there. Anyway, we’re not sensitive to it because we’ve been exposed to it so many times.”

“That is not how fucking allergies work!”

“So you’re a doctor now.” She didn’t deserve to be screamed at. She had tried to stop him. “It’s a shame you’re not a botanist because—”

“I swear to the fucking Seven, if you say what I think you’re going to say next—”

“There’s nothing for it. We’ll have to strip your clothes off.”

Looking at his scars no longer bothered her, but meeting his eyes was another story. Nobody had ever stared at her with so much heat before. She could barely sort out the myriad emotions swirling behind his blistering expression, anger giving way to something very different but no less molten. Then her brain caught up with what her mouth had said. Only the gods knew how she kept making such suggestions to him, but she needed to get her hormone problem under better control.

“For the shower,” she said quickly, her cheeks practically igniting under his gaze. “You’ll have to shower right away to get the oil off your skin.” 

He was on her in the space of a blink, no longer coyly pretending not to want to touch her. His finger traced a line from behind her ear down her jaw before he cradled her face in his large hand. It stole her breath away, but breathing was so, so overrated. She no longer regretted anything she’d said. She swayed into his chest, needing to feel his muscles against her like when he’d carried her off the volleyball field. His answering growl was intoxicating. Gods, he had so many interesting growls. Her internal butterflies were dancing, tipsy on nectar. She reached up on tiptoes to get to his lips just as he leaned down to claim her.

WHOOSSH Ka-BAM! Lady fled, taking advantage of Sansa’s lack of balance to jerk her backward before yanking the leash out of her hand. She stumbled and just managed not to fall, her heart beating wildly.

“Lady! Heel!” Lady shook with fear, torn between running away to hide and obeying Sansa’s command. It gave Sansa enough time to catch up to her and scoop her leash off the grass. She couldn’t blame Lady for the awful timing, but she definitely planned to blame someone.

Meanwhile, Sandor was marching down the demarcated path, Stranger just about keeping pace with his short legs. Sansa hurried to follow them. 

At the clearing, Ramsay Bolton was swinging a bottle of what looked suspiciously like expensive scotch while Theon held out a brick-sized firework. Sansa felt her own temper squeeze her like a huge fist. How very dare they! Sandor had been about to kiss her. They’d ruined everything!

“The Giantsbane!” Theon read from the packaging. “This should be a bone rattler.”

“Give me the fuse, bitch,” Ramsay ordered, producing a lighter from his pocket.

“Put the fucking fireworks down,” Sandor said, “before I drown you assmonkeys in the fucking poison ivy.”

Ramsay and Theon both froze, Theon paling while his eyes bugged out. Ramsay shook it off far too soon. “You think I’m afraid of you? That’s cute.”

Sandor snatched the lighter out of his hand and threw it into the woods. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think. If you scare Sansa’s dog again, I’m gonna tie your fucking tongue to the bumper of my van and drag your corpse all the way to fucking Kings Landing.”

“Maybe toss him into the kennel first so the dogs can make their opinions known,” Sansa said.

Ramsay held his hands up in a gesture toward peace. Theon swallowed, his Adam’s apple wavering, as he placed the firework on the ground. “Damn, Sansa, we didn’t know you had the dogs out. I’m sorry.” He addressed Lady with a pat on her head. “I’m sorry, girl. No harm, no foul, right?”

Sansa hmmphed. “You’re supposed to be annoying Arya, not me. Didn’t Robb give you any instructions about today?”

Theon blinked a few times. “Instructions?”

Ramsay’s laugh was incredibly high-pitched. “Fuck yes, a family feud. I love these things. What can I do to help?”

“You can shut the fuck up, and start acting like a guest instead of a dickhead,” Sandor said.

Ramsay pointed at Sandor. “I like him. Really.”

Sandor bared his teeth in a snarl that made Ramsay step backward in a rush. 

“Just stop stealing our fireworks. Don’t light off any more without Robb or my Dad,” Sansa said. “You know, same as every year. It’s not like you’re new here.”

Sandor narrowed his eyes and leveled the guys with one of his penetrating glares. They both nodded, considerably more subdued. Stranger barked once, and Ramsey jumped. Sansa didn’t try to disguise her amused smile.

The walk back to the kennel was finally uneventful, although it occurred to Sansa that anytime she tried to go anywhere with Sandor, they were constantly interrupted. He must think Northerners were all absolutely bonkers. He’d stopped trying to touch her, and he muttered to himself under his breath until they let the dogs into the kennel run. She could only make out the end of his monologue, something about something or someone being crazy.

“What’s crazy?” she asked as she latched the fence, fearing the answer would encompass her, her family, and everything that had happened since they’d met.

He inhaled deeply, almost like a sigh. “For a minute there, it seemed like you wanted to kiss me, but—”

“Maybe it would make sense to kiss me then.” Excitement made her giddy. He still wanted to kiss her! Ramsay and Theon hadn’t ruined it. She fought the instinct to twirl around and settled for giving him her most flirtatious look from under her eyelashes.

He put his back against the fence and wrapped an arm around her waist, spinning her into him effortlessly, as if she was lighter than air. His thigh came up between her legs, and her pulse hammered in her throat. This push and pull between them was crazy making, like nothing she’d ever experienced before. She reached up to comb her fingers through his hair, and he closed his eyes, his exhale sounding a lot like purring. To have such a powerful man under her control was a heady feeling. His grip on her waist tightened, and he leaned down to kiss her surprisingly gently. His lips were salty and made her want more. She opened her mouth and licked his upper lip near the burns, feeling the rough texture. He moaned, the deep timber of his voice driving her almost mad. When his hand dove into her hair, massaging the sensitive skin on the back of her neck, she pushed into his thigh. Holy fuck, this was a kiss.

He broke it off, pulled back, and studied her face. She did her best to catch her breath, knowing she must look shellshocked. Sandor looked stunned himself, and his silver eyes glittered as he traced her collarbones with his fingers. If he was going to do that, no reason why she shouldn’t put her hands on his chest, test out just how hard those muscles were. He bit down on one of his growls, cutting it off early but not before she felt the rumble echo in her belly. Oh, that was … she’d had enough oxygen now. She went on tiptoes and stretched up to meet his lips again.

“This is a strange place for a makeout session,” Rickon said from behind her. 

Sansa startled all over. How did such a noisy adolescent menace manage to sneak up on people so quietly? Sandor pulled back from her and leaned against the fence, but he kept a hand on her waist. It was incredibly hard not to focus solely on that point of contact. The most alive part of her was the skin under his palm.

“What do you want, Rickon?” She sounded a little growly herself.

“Robb texted me that you were looking for me. Yelling for me in the woods.” He grinned impertinently at Sandor. “You guys didn’t think I was lighting off fireworks without checking on the dogs first, did you?”

“Of course not.” She hoped Sandor wasn’t keeping track of the number of lies he’d heard her tell. “That was Ramsay and Theon.”

“Go figure. What did you want me for?”

“Oh, uh, Sandor stepped in the black dot ivy.”

Rickon whistled. “That stuff is vicious, dawg. Good thing we’ve built up an immunity to it.”

“Again, that’s not how poison ivy allergies work,” Sandor said, barely hiding his annoyance.

“I’m like half sure it is,” Sansa said. “Anyway, Rickon, I was hoping you could, um, help Sandor with the shower.”

“Sure, no problem. C’mon.” 

Rickon marched toward the house. Sansa shrugged and laced her fingers through Sandor’s, leading him alongside her brother. He shrugged in return and let himself be led.

“I should warn you, though,” Rickon said, “Arya’s in the kitchen telling Mom and Dad some crazy story about you and Jon hiring someone from an online ad.”

Sansa froze, her heart dropping to the ground. How had Arya found out? How had … Arya was tattling! Like they were seven years old! Ugh, what was wrong with that girl? Why did Arya hate her so much?

“You sure you want me to go back to the house?” Sandor said low in her ear, sending chills down her side.

“You need to get cleaned up. I’ll talk to Arya.” 

She’d just been coming to the conclusion that she and Arya were finally becoming friends, too. They’d gotten along so well all day. Her free hand curled into a fist. Maybe kissing Sandor had reminded her that courage was an option, but it seemed far past time for her and Arya to clear the air between them for once and for all.


	7. Frisbee, Love Songs, and Other Dangerous Games

“She and Jon were in on it together,” Arya was saying when Sansa popped into the kitchen. She was waving her phone in their father’s face, and Sansa could tell from the doorway that Sandor’s ad was on the screen. She had the shape of the ad’s text memorized.

“Jon, well, doesn’t that just figure.” Mom sounded incredibly harried, and she was busy tossing oversized serving spoons into the sink. “But I can’t believe Sansa had anything to do with this.”

“What would Jon’s motive be?” Dad leaned against a counter, stretching his lower back.

“Arya knows perfectly well what our motives were,” Sansa announced, making her entrance dramatically. 

Arya, as always, decided the best defense was a powerful offense, although maybe it was the other way around in this case. She marched up to Sansa, her eyebrows doing that scary thing she did when she wanted to be intimidating. “Don’t try to tell me Robb didn’t come up with this scheme. It has his fingerprints all over it.”

Sansa was an adult, grown above tattling on her siblings. “Robb had nothing to do with it.”

“You are the worst liar!” Arya crossed her arms over her chest.

“Really? Because earlier, you told Sandor I was an excellent liar.”

“What do you care what I told him?” Arya froze, staring into Sansa’s eyes for a disconcerting second. “You fell for him, didn’t you? Even with his face looking like that, you fell for the fake boyfriend. That’s almost funny. That’s the most typically Sansa thing ever.”

Dad grinned. “Well. Sorry to hear you aren’t really dating the cage fighter.”

She felt her cheeks get warm. “That’s … that’s … who told you about the ad?” 

Arya flung her hand in the direction of the outdoors. “Daenerys, of course. She pretended it was one of her flaky predictions, as if it hadn’t already happened.”

“Ugh, I knew she was untrustworthy!” 

“Very untrustworthy,” Arya said. “Almost as bad as you and Jon coming here with fake dates just to see who could be the worst behaved.”

“I’m sure they weren’t trying to give me a heart attack,” Dad said agreeably. “Right, princess?”

Sansa tried to pin Arya down with laser beam eyes. “Let’s talk about showing up with badly behaved boyfriends. Remember Dolorous Edd? Hot Pie?”

Dad shuddered. “Which one told me climate change was turning Winterfell into an inhabitable swamp overrun with blackflies?”

Mom wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Ned, I don’t think that’s the point.”

“Right.” Dad patted Arya on the shoulder. “Pumpkin, I don’t think you have a leg to stand on here. I’m not sure which of you girls brings worse people home or when it became a competition, but let’s name Gendry the winner of the jackass award and be done with it from now on.”

For half a moment, Sansa and Arya were united in confusion. Then Arya tilted her head back and screamed at the ceiling.

“You can’t include Gendry. Arya’s boyfriend is a great guy,” Sansa said. “After the things she texted us about him, we didn’t know she was going to show up with a real boyfriend.”

“Gendry is not my boyfriend!” Arya protested.

Sansa felt her jaw drop open and quickly closed it. Arya was quivering with righteous indignation. Amazingly, it seemed like her sister thought she was telling the truth.

“Even better,” Dad said. “No Gendry Waters and no Sandor Clegane. Huh, I’m so glad you girls worked this out between you.”

“Ned, please stop talking,” Mom said.

“Of course Gendry’s your boyfriend,” Sansa said. “You were snuggling in the hot springs! I asked Sandor to take a picture!”

“I was not snuggling with Gendry. We’re just friends.” Arya rubbed the back of her neck. “Uh, he didn’t happen to get a picture, did he?”

“Of what?” Sansa said as innocently as she could.

Arya scowled at her. “I brought my _friend_ Gendry here because he doesn’t have any brothers and sisters, and I thought it would be nice for him to see what a big, close family is like. That was a huge mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“He’s totally smitten with you,” Sansa said. 

“Smitten? Who says smitten outside of young adult historical romances?” 

Sansa wasn’t letting Arya off the hook with such a lousy distraction. “I mean, you brought him home to meet the family. He uses every excuse to get closer to you. Even Dad noticed. You don’t think he wants to be just friends, do you?” She shook her head. “That is the most typically Arya thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh, ha ha. Not everyone in this family gets romantically involved with literally every single person they meet. You just had to figure out a way to get him to carry you off the volleyball field, didn’t you?”

“That was Daenerys’s fault,” Sansa said. “Uh, you didn’t happen to take a picture—"

“Of what?” Arya snorted. “Did you explain to Sandor Clegane that, despite your flirting today, you’re never actually going to see him again?”

Sansa’s stomach dropped. “This isn’t about Sandor.”

“Yes, it is! It’s exactly about Sandor. It’s definitely not about my one-hundred percent platonic friend Gendry.”

“Your platonic friend? You can’t possibly be both blind and deaf.”

Sansa glared at Arya, and Arya glared back. They seemed to be at an impasse.

Mom came over and stood between them. “Alright, I want to make it clear that I am not condoning this behavior. I think Sansa and Jon—”

“And Robb,” Arya insisted.

“Not Robb,” Sansa said. “He, uh, he wanted to bring Theon.”

Mom inhaled and exhaled. “This was very childish behavior on your part, Sansa. But right now, I have bigger problems. Lyanna is crying in my bedroom because Jon’s avoiding her, Lysa and Petyr have escalated to throwing plastic ware, Robin changed the WiFi network name to something obscene that I don’t even understand, Benjen just announced that he’s joined the military, Walda Bolton is having what I very much hope are only Braxton-Hicks contractions … I thought we agreed last year not to invite the Boltons again.”

“I haven’t invited anyone to this shindig since Robb was in diapers,” Dad said. “It’s not my fault people need to commemorate this blessed day of reverence for our ancestors—”

“Yes, yes,” Mom said, firmly smothering the incoming rant. “All I’m saying is that Sansa’s guest is low on my list of priorities right now. Where is he, anyway?”

“There was an incident with black dot poison ivy,” Sansa said, feeling guilt for adding to her mother’s hosting worries. “I promise, I’ll take care of it. Is there anything else I can do to help?”

“Yes, change my WiFi name back before I get any more questions about it.”

Arya laughed at her phone screen. “Oh, Mom. Don’t look that one up without me, okay?”

Mom huffed and pushed out the door with a roll of paper towels in hand, as if that would be enough to clean up the mess of a properly done Northern Independence Day party. Sansa had to admire her bravado.

As she went out, Rickard Karstark strode in, his two youngest sons right behind him. “Ned, I hate to interrupt, I know you’re busy, but my boys were playing frisbee under the lights out front, and the frisbee landed in the dog run. Now Rickon’s beast is, uh, affectionately humping it. The boys are terrified of going in after it.”

The boys, Harrion and Torrhen, were not yet teenagers, and Sansa guessed that their eye rolling and squirming meant they were more embarrassed by their father saying “humping” than terrified of Shaggy. On the other hand, they were hiding in the kitchen, bringing in the summery smells of bug spray and sweaty preteen boy. They looked wilted from a day running around in the heat. At least they weren’t trying to connect to the WiFi network.

Dad nodded seriously to the boys. “How about your father and I get that frisbee back for you? And the girls can find you some ice cream in the meantime.”

That produced murmurs of “thanks Mr. Stark.” Arya rummaged in the freezer while Dad and Rickard Karstark left the house gossiping about Benjen. Sansa smiled at the boys and told them not to worry about their frisbee. 

“All the good ice cream cups are outside,” Arya said. “All I got here is peanut butter cup and birthday cake.”

“Oooh, I’ll take birthday cake,” Sansa said.

“Hey, I wasn’t getting anything for you. You still owe me an apology.” Arya handed Harry Karstark two ice cream cups while Sansa found spoons. 

“Don’t listen to her. I don’t owe her an apology,” Sansa told the boys. 

“I didn’t start this. You started it. You and Robb bringing home idiots like Jeyne Westerling and Joffrey Baratheon, making us deal with people who treat you like crap.” Arya gestured at the younger Karstark boy. “What do you do when your brother acts like an idiot?”

Harry shrugged, still hanging on to both ice creams. “I dunno. He pretty much always does.”

Torrhen grabbed a cup from his brother’s hand. “Yeah, and who takes your side when it’s Eddard’s turn to put the dishes away and he tries to make you do it?”

“Sansa never sticks up for me,” Arya complained. 

“I just did! I just stuck up for Gendry to Dad.” Sansa knew she sounded prickly. Hearing Joffrey’s name always made her feel prickly. He was the mistake nobody wanted to forgive her for making. “We don’t need to instigate an argument between these two—"

“Wait a minute,” Harry said, “the last time Eddard blamed me for the dishes not being done, you farted in my face.”

Torrhen crossed his eyes at his little brother. “I’ll do it again if you don’t cut the crap, butthead.”

“You’re so stupid it makes my brain bleed,” Harry said through a mouth full of ice cream.

“Mom told me that you’re really adopted,” Tor said. “From the freak show. Charity thing.”

“Yeah? Mom told me she’s leaving you at the zoo to live with the monkeys.”

“Okay!” Sansa said in her projecting teacher’s voice. “We didn’t mean to start a fight. Just because we’re not getting along with each other doesn’t mean we need to spread the misery around.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Tor said. “We always talk to each other like this. He knows I stick up for him.” He shrugged. “You can’t waste a good fart, that’s all.”

“Understood,” Arya said with a nod as if this was sage wisdom.

“Just ‘cause I play tricks on him, I’m still the best brother he could hope for.” Tor punched his younger brother on the arm. 

Harry made a face like he was about to vomit. Sansa laughed, relieved the boys were only playing at arguing. “I’m sure playing tricks on each other is part of keeping involved in each other’s lives.”

“Although listening to each other might be a better option,” Arya muttered. 

“That sounds awful,” Harry said. “Tor’s dumb as dirt. Nobody can listen to him.”

“What? I can’t hear you!” Torrhen yelled in Harry’s ear. 

Harry flinched. “See what I mean? Thanks for the ice cream though.”

The boys pitched their empty containers in the open garbage and said their “see yas” and “smell you laters” before barreling through the door outside, their moods greatly uplifted. Apparently, they’d needed the air conditioning and calories to rejuvenate themselves more than their forgotten frisbee.

“They seem nice,” Sansa said as she rinsed their spoons in the sink. She shut off the water. “Look, I have to find Sandor, but I want you to know that I listen to you. I really do.”

“You didn’t listen when I tried to tell you about Joffrey.”

Sansa closed her eyes, but only for a second. One day, her family would stop bringing him up. She had to wait for time to pass to earn back their trust. Crazy stunts like hiring fake boyfriends online weren’t going to make that time move any faster.

“I’m sorry I got defensive when you told me Joffrey was a cannibalistic serial killer,” she said.

“I told you he had eyes like a cannibalistic serial killer.” Arya grimaced. “Alright, I guess I could’ve been clearer.”

“You were. I’m not sure it mattered what words you used,” Sansa admitted. “I wasn’t ready to hear it. And now I can’t figure out what to say to Jeyne about Ramsay.” 

Pointing out that Ramsay was as crazy as an outhouse rat probably wasn’t going to sway her, considering they’d known Ramsay since elementary school and he hadn’t morphed into his personality overnight. Poor Jeyne. Arya had a point – this was frustrating. No wonder she’d been tempted into action rather than words.

And she didn’t know what she was going to say to Sandor. She couldn’t tell him that he was the most supportive guy she’d ever brought home, not the way he shied away from compliments. How could she explain that she knew she was wrong to bring him here under such sketchy circumstances and would totally understand if he thought poorly of her, but she was happy that he came anyway? It sounded reasonable in her head, but she knew that as soon as she tried to say the words to him, she’d get nervous and mixed up and trip over her own tongue. 

As if Arya was reading her mind, she sighed. “Those Karstark boys were right, talking about relationships sucks.”

“Speaking of Gendry—"

“Which we weren’t,” Arya said. “But I’d better find him at the bonfire before Daenerys predicts he’s the secret heir to the throne of Westeros or something equally stupid.”

Arya looked around the kitchen to make sure they hadn’t left a mess before heading back to the party. “Hey,” Sansa called, stopping her sister in the open doorway. Arya paused with her hand on the doorknob.

“I was thinking,” Sansa said. “Would you want to see Gendry’s band with me next weekend?” She twirled her hair, waiting for rejection.

Arya squinted at her. “I mean, I don’t want him to think I’m a groupie.”

Sansa tried to smile, but it was a weak thing. “Never mind. It was just a spur of the moment idea.”

“No, I want to.” Arya’s return smile was more enthusiastic. “I was trying to say that if I go with you, I won’t look like some weird ass groupie going by myself.”

“Oh. Oh, good. Then … yes, we’ll hit the town next Saturday night. And maybe by then, you and Gendry will have a chat about what you both want your relationship—"

“Seven hells, don’t make me regret it already.” Arya slammed the door.

Tentatively, swallowing down her feelings of anxiety, Sansa knocked on Rickon’s bedroom door. She’d heard the shower in the adjoining bathroom shut off while she was in the kitchen, and now she could sense the intoxicating smells of shampoo and cinnamony soap and predict how distracting they’d be. So, to rehearse her objectives, she was going to thank Sandor for being the very best fake boyfriend ever and ask if it was okay to see him at the White Cloak Brewery next weekend. Two things, she could do that. Oh, and remind him that he didn’t have to drive home tonight, but she’d be absolutely fine with whatever he decided about tonight and next Saturday. So that was four things. Sincere thanks, reiterate the invitation to sleep here, ask about seeing him again, and then let him know it was his decision with no pressure. She could articulate four things without sounding like an idiot, she was almost sure. She knocked again, louder. 

“Yeah,” Sandor called out. She took that as an invitation to enter Rickon’s room.

He was fully dressed already, and hoping for anything else would be incredibly out of line. He stood outside the bathroom door, combing through his hair with his fingers without using a mirror. Rickon’s room didn’t have a mirror, which explained some of her brother’s recent sartorial choices. He’d straightened up for the party, though, so there weren’t any dirty dishes or empty soda cans. The bed had been set and everything, so not too embarrassing. 

The scent of the soap wasn’t all cinnamon notes. There were definite undertones of the ocean, something salty and fresh and mysterious. Sandor’s wet hair soaked the shoulders of his thin t-shirt, and the cotton molded itself to his body. Sansa’s throat was suddenly too dry for speech, and she swallowed and licked her lips. 

He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. “Did you want anything?”

Oh Gods yes. “Um. Four things? I mean, definitely four things, I just need to remember them.” Or any single one of them, really.

He shrugged. “Take your time.” 

Then he tugged on the ends of his hair, working on a knot, and she realized she was threading her fingers together, trying not to take over the job. Rickon hadn’t thought to bring him a brush or a comb. She had a spare hairbrush in her room.

“You know what? I’ll be right back.” She went to leave, came to the epiphany that she was acting weird, and turned back to add, “Don’t go anywhere.”

He gave her a slow, lopsided smile as if he was reading her mind – although if he could get anything coherent out of the firing of the too-long-dormant synapses that controlled physical attraction, it would be a small miracle. It was an enticing smile, though. She gave him a little wave and twirled out the door, and as soon as she was out of his sight, she smacked herself on the forehead. Did she really just wave at him? 

He was checking his phone when she returned. She’d never met anyone who checked their phone less frequently than he did, and she liked that a lot. His undivided attention had been keeping her adrenaline hopping all day.

“Anything interesting?” she asked.

“Just checking the time. Although you have a real interesting name for your Wi-Fi network.” 

“Maybe someday you can tell me what it means.” That earned her another small smile, and those weren’t easy to coax out of him. Every one of his smiles made her feel like she’d accomplished something special. “Well, go ahead and sit down on the bed.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And why would I be doing that?”

“So I can get to … your … hair.” She started out confidently, but the foundation she’d built the sentence on crumbled apart under his gaze. She held out the brush. He stared at it like it was a bomb or a newborn baby.

They both spoke at the same time. “I’m sorry, I was being presumptuous.” “Are you fucking seriously still doing this fake relationship shit?”

Sansa looked away first, studying the nearest of the cables snaking like vines throughout the room. “I … don’t know what I was thinking. This wasn’t even one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.”

He was quiet, but she heard him shuffle closer and the sound of the mattress sighing as he rested his weight on it. “Alright,” he said slowly. “This is what you want?”

He was avoiding eye contact, glancing around the room with obviously faked interest. She edged closer, like approaching a strange dog. He didn’t snap at her. She thought she was working out his pattern now, the way he’d insulted her after carrying her in his arms and the way he’d jumped at first whenever she touched his skin. If she wanted to get away with this privilege, it might be best to change the subject.

She climbed onto the bed behind him, talking in a soft, casual voice as she got adjusted. He was so tall, she had to get up on her knees to reach his hair. “So Arya figured out that Jon and I were trying to give her a taste of her own medicine, but we worked it out. But this is the crazy part. She thinks she and Gendry are just friends.”

He snorted. “Unreal. It must be something in the water up here. Do you ever stop telling yourselves stories? You could attempt some situational awareness to puncture your delusions of …” She started brushing his hair, letting the bristles glide gently against the back of his head. “… of your, your, mmmm, you know, the things.”

“Oh, I know,” she agreed. “Can I braid your hair?”

“Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” he said in a low rumble. It almost sounded fond.

She ran the brush down the length of his hair and followed it with her fingers, gently easing apart the twisted strands. The shampoo smelled even more like the ocean up close. Not a hot, muggy, swampy beach, but a clean Northern shore with a tang of salt. She put the brush down and scratched the back of his head with her nails. He hummed almost too low to hear, his shoulders relaxing.

“I just got a gel manicure,” she said in a sort-of explanation as she worked her nails to the base of his skull. She was gentle at the edge of the scar tissue from his burns, skimming the ridge lightly with her fingertips. He shuddered and leaned closer to her, tipping his head down in silent invitation. She rubbed the back of his neck, lulling them both with the rhythmic, circling motions. 

In the stillness, she could hear the music from the speakers near the house. Someone had put on a new playlist, changing the tunes from Bran’s high-energy party playlist to romantic swing, probably one of her parents or her soppy Uncle Edmure. The strains of a love song drifted lazily through the open windows.

"I practice every day  
To find some clever lines to say  
To make the meaning come true"

"But then I think I'll wait  
Until the evening gets late  
And I'm alone with you"

She moved down, massaging his neck. “You’re carrying a lot of tension in your shoulders.” The span of her hand extended from thumb to pinky didn’t cover the top of his shoulder. So much real estate in need of attention.

“Mmm, tension everywhere,” he said. “Little lower.”

It was just as well that he couldn’t see her grin. She rubbed his shoulder blades. “That good?”

“Hmmpff.” 

She traced stripes down his back over his t-shirt with her new gel manicure. His answering sigh was tiny, almost concealed, and the vulnerability went straight to her heart. Not that she’d gone into this massage with any forethought whatsoever, but she expected some pangs of lust instead of this overpowering urge to cuddle and wrap Sandor in soft and gentle caresses. She lifted his hair back and pressed a feather-light kiss to his warm neck, pulling away when his breath hitched.

The gentle touching calmed her enough to talk to him without blabbering nonsense. “I wanted to thank you for today.”

“No thnks. Dnt thnk me.” It was hard not to hug him and snuggle into his shoulder when he sounded so comfortable. 

She turned her attention to his arms, using her fingernails to raise goosebumps on his silky clean skin. Then she rubbed the back of his hand, feeling the lax muscles between the bones. His fingers twitched with each stroke. “Arya wants me to go with her to see Gendry’s band next weekend. Where you work. Is that okay with you?”

He didn’t speak at first, and she realized he was holding himself very still, watching her fingers travel back up the length of his arm. “Free country,” he finally murmured.

She picked up the hairbrush. “Great. Turn around so I can see your face.”

If she’d hit him on the head with the brush as hard as she could, the effect on him would’ve been the same. The muscles she’d tried so hard to relax tightened up, and his fingers curled into fists. Dammit, what a stupid thing to say. 

She tried to move past it quickly before he could get up and leave. “I need to brush the front of your hair. You know what, stay there, I’ll just scoot around.”

She swung her legs off the bed and angled herself to reach his face, but he scooped her up and pulled her onto his lap. Oh, that was much better. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling, and she straddled his thighs and combed her fingers through his hair. 

“Little bird,” he said quietly, “what are you doing?”

“Fixing your hair.” 

She reached up and kissed his forehead. Then she tilted her head down to get more comfortable, resting her forehead on his. His arms snaked around her waist, pulling her closer. She could feel his breath now, each rise and fall of his chest, each exhale warming her lips. She moved closer just as he did. 

Their first kisses were slow and careful, as if they didn’t want to break the delicate bubble of comfort she’d created. But he felt too good for slow, hard and soft in all the right places, and his tongue teased her upper lip, coaxing her mouth open. The hairbrush fell to the gods only knew where. She laced her fingers together behind his neck and tasted him, the hint of tart lemonade on his tongue. Her body felt like it was lighting up with sparks, like the fireflies coming out at dusk. The romantic music dipped and swayed around them.

"The time is right, your perfume fills my head  
The stars get red  
And oh, the night's so blue"

But deepening their intimacy in her teenaged brother’s bed would just be too weird.

“Stay over tonight,” she said against his lips.

He let go of his embrace, leaving her adrift on his lap, struggling for balance. “You don’t know what you’re asking. You don’t … you don’t want that.”

“I’ll understand if you don’t want to,” she said gently, resting her mouth on the shell of his ear, “but I know I want you to stay.”

Her breath in his ear coaxed a small whine from him, almost below her hearing. He took a deep breath. “That’s not— It doesn’t matter what I want.” He held her by the shoulders and pushed her away, so he could study her face, her reactions. “You don’t know me. I’m a stranger to you. The fighting felon, remember?”

“Oh, we’re back to this?” She sighed. “I haven’t exactly given you the best first impression today. I wouldn’t blame you for leaving without looking back, but—"

“Fuck, no, it’s not you. You’re …” He squeezed his eyes shut with a frustrated groan. “Get up. I need to get going.”

“Wait, what?” 

He popped his eyes open wide and stared at her, his jaw set hard. He was completely tense now, expectant. He wasn’t going to push her off his lap, but he wasn’t going to touch her anymore either. 

“Alright.” She unwound her legs from around his thighs and sat next to him. “If you want to talk more, I can talk more.”

“Why the hell are you doing this?” he snapped. “Really, just what the fuck?”

The temperature of the room seemed to drop, and she shivered. “I don’t know what you mean. Why am I kissing you?”

He stood up, cutting off her contact with his body heat completely. “Yes, that’s what I mean,” he said, still with a sharp edge to his voice.

“You made today better. And, and, being with you is fun.” She wasn’t convincing him. His expression was closed off and cold. “I’m having a great time with you. Isn’t that enough of a reason?”

Apparently, it wasn’t. “I could be some violent cunt who smacks women around for all you know.”

“Okay, well, obviously you’re not.” Did he actually think she was that oblivious? Oh, hell, probably. The whiplash mood change was making her lightheaded. “What is this really about, Sandor? Because I’d like to fix this if I can.”

“Fix this? You’d like to fix this?” His voice rose in disbelief. “What the fuck do you think you can fix? You already forget why I’m here?”

“If this is about Robb and Jon paying you—"

His face twisted into a snarl. That was, again, the absolute wrong thing to say. It was like she had an accidental talent for finding his vulnerable spots. “Do you fucking think I’d take their fucking money after this?” he said, words dripping with venom.

She threw up her hands. “Alright, you know what? I have no idea what’s going on with you. I just … “ Her throat tightened. She was not going to start crying, not if it killed her. “I’d like to apologize to you.”

His eyes narrowed. “You don’t owe me an apology.”

“I must’ve done something very wrong.” Hopefully, he didn’t notice her voice waver.

He turned away from her, staring at the Northern flags Rickon had hung in place of curtains. She could hear him inhale and exhale through his mouth. 

“No,” he said finally. “I’m not your fault, Sansa. Just … just be more careful who you get involved with, right?”

There was probably a correct answer to that, an answer that would keep him here, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. She shook her head, reached out and grabbed onto his arm. 

But he very gently lifted her hand off him and gave it a squeeze before he dropped it. And he left without another word. 

She should follow him, she thought, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. She’d said everything she’d set out to tell him. He wanted to leave. It was certainly his right, and considering how duplicitous she and her family had been getting him here, she couldn’t blame him. But she still felt bereft, her eyes prickly with a deeper sense of loss than she could have imagined.

"And then I go and spoil it all"  
By saying something stupid  
Like I love you 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, this chapter was a monster. I probably should've divided it in two, but I couldn't leave you without any SanSan in a chapter. Plus I added another chapter to the count (for this ridiculous "one-shot," lessons learned).
> 
> I'm sorry that I haven't responded to comments lately, but I adore them. Pandemic life takes its toll from time to time, and it's been crazy here. I hope you're all doing as well as can be expected.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a prompt on the SanSan Discord, where the classified ad was posted.


End file.
